


Dark Roads & Open Doors

by Cosmo_Donatien



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_Donatien/pseuds/Cosmo_Donatien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red & Lizzie are on their way to meet an important contact who is the key to landing Number Nine on the Blacklist, a breakdown en route causes them to seek shelter for the night and their relationship changes forever.</p><p>Shameless Red/Lizzie fic that is attempting plot as well as hot monkey sex. Hailing from the UK, we've only had 2 Eps at the time this was started, so this should be considered totally AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Loose talk of hearts and heads, of sleep in other beds... it's better left unsaid." -- Duncan Sheik, 'Memento'

“Shit,” Liz Keen swore, kicking the front tyre of the company car that had just spectacularly broken down in the middle of nowhere. She spared a glance at her passenger and bizarre work partner who sat stone still, cuffed to the door handle, although his eyes were trained solely upon her and danced with mirth at their current situation. Heaving a sigh she pulled her phone from her back pocket as she made to sit behind the wheel of the sedan; “Damn,” she cursed, pocketing her phone, “no signal.” Reddington snorted in response – of course there’d be no signal; that would be far too easy. “Looks like we might be stopping here for the night,” she said, agitated at the whole situation; why he had to meet his contact in the ass-end of nowhere was beyond her; but he had assured the team that they’d never catch his number 9 without the information he could get from the man they were going to meet, so off they went with the team’s blessing.

 

“You might want to put your coat on,” Red disturbed her thoughts, “it gets rather cold out here at night.” Lizzie considered his suggestion and agreed, pulling her coat from the back seat and slipping it on. They sat in silence for a while. “So?” Red prompted out of the blue.

 

“So, what?”

 

“Did you want to sit here in silence?”

“You want to ask questions all night?”

“I’m naturally curious.”

“No, you’re inordinately curious. Infuriatingly, even.”

 

“Well I’d quite like to chat.”

 

“When have you ever just chatted?” He said nothing in response. “Okay, what do you want to talk about, Red?”

 

“Is everything alright at home? You’ve seemed tense when you arrive in the office in the mornings.”

 

“Everything’s fine.”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“And I suppose you know exactly what goes on behind the closed doors and curtains of my house?”

 

“There was a time.”

 

“You- you bugged my _house_? When?” Lizzie demanded, turning in her seat to face him.

 

“Briefly; a couple of years ago,” he admitted with a shrug.

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

“I told you, _curious by nature_.”

 

“That’s not the reason at all; don’t lie to me, Red.”

 

“It is true. Although I did notice that your husband is _very_ careful around the house.”

 

“And? He likes things to be neat.”

 

“He’s more than just ‘neat’, Lizzie. He used to walk around in the evenings wiping your house clean of prints. Now tell me, why do you think he’d do that?”

 

“I... I don’t know; he does strange things sometimes – maybe he’d been watching too much CSI.” She shook her head and fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. “Look, I’m done with this line of questioning. Tom is off limits, end of conversation.”

 

The awkward silence following her statement filled the car and stifled any response he may have been considering. Briefly, he turned his attention to the darkness outside and allowed a small smirk to flit across his features.

 

“You know, I think I saw a sign for a motel a mile or so back down the road.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“You’re shivering, Lizzie; the car isn’t going to keep you warm and nor is arguing.”

 

“I suppose we could check it out – but you’re walking ahead of me the whole time. I don’t need you pulling any stunts.”

 

“I hardly planned for your car to break down,” he retorted dryly, though the raised brow of her response said she wasn’t entirely convinced. She opened her door and exited the car, coming around to the passenger door to let him out and uncuff him. “Thank you,” he uttered softly, rubbing at his wrists.

 

“You wanna grab your bag?”

 

“I’ll carry both.”

 

He swung her bag up on to his right shoulder and casually held his own by its luxury leather handles

“Thanks,” Lizzie offered before gesturing that he should start walking.

 

They walked at a reasonable pace but Liz could still feel the cold seeping into her joints, making her tired and achy. It wasn’t long before her teeth began to chatter, and the effort of gritting her teeth to stop it made her jaw ache; she pulled her coat tightly around herself and continued to walk a pace or so behind Reddington in order to keep him in her sights at all times.

 

“Stop,” Red’s command came so suddenly that she did so without argument. “Take off your coat,” he ordered. She stared at him as though he were a madman, then watched as he opened his bag and rummaged around before he pulled out a deep red knitted sweater and held it out to her. Quickly, she removed her coat and grabbed the proffered extra layer, pulling it over her head and briefly revelling in the softness of the material before whipping her coat back on; she pulled the too-long sleeves down and balled her fists around the ends to keep her hands warm and, with a muttered “Thanks,” gestured for him to start walking again. They soon reached a crossroads with a sign that simply stated ‘MOTEL’ along with ‘NEXT LEFT’; it was another mile West.

 

“Should’ve stayed in the damn car,” Lizzie grumbled as she trudged after Reddington, “we’ll freeze to death either way.” Twenty minutes down the road saw the pair standing at the edge of the small parking lot of the somewhat run-down motel; it was Red’s turn to grumble.

 

“Stay in the car, you said? A fabulous idea; let’s go back.” He made to turn and walk back again, but Lizzie grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and pulled him back to face the motel.

 

“Oh, no you don’t. This was your idea in the first place. You make your bed, Red.”

 

“I haven’t made any beds at this place, and I shudder at the thought of having to do so.” Liz barked a dry laugh at his discomfiture and he offered a half-smile at her amusement.

 

Lizzie led him to the small – highly cluttered – office, where a slight young man sat behind the counter and regarded them with curiosity through the glass of the door. Lizzie walked into the office and gave the clerk a sweet smile. “Hi, we were heading to Edison and our car broke down; do you have any rooms for tonight?”

“Just one double room left, ma’am.” She evidently didn’t hide her surprise at how a middle-of-nowhere motel was full as the clerk continued; “we’ve had a rush on account of the Robertson’s daughter’s wedding.”

 

“I see. So, just the one double room left?” The clerk nodded. “If you’ll excuse me for just a second.” Lizzie stepped back out into the parking lot where Red made to hand over her bag.

 

“One room left? Great. I’ll go back to the car!”

 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight, Red.”

 

“I will personally cuff myself to the rear passenger door,” he offered, but she had already gone back into the office. Resigned to a night on the couch, he followed her.

 

“My husband would like a little more detail about the room – he’s picky like that,” she said with a sweet smile, feeling Red’s eyes practically boring a hole into the back of her head; “is there a TV? Couch? Bath or shower?” she reeled off the items as though it were a checklist she was familiar with asking on behalf of her ‘husband’.

 

“Um... there’s an armchair, a small TV, and there’s a shower over the bath so you have a choice.”

 

“Perfect!” she responded with so much false enthusiasm she thought she might make herself ill, “We’ll take the room, _sweetie_ ,” she said brightly but firmly, leaving no room for Red to argue over her shoulder.

 

“Of course, _dear_ ,” he muttered as the clerk busied himself with the paperwork and locating their key in the clutter.

* * *

 

 

Liz woke suddenly with a jerk; her eyes scanned the darkness of the unfamiliar room and alighted on Reddington, the outline of his form illuminated by the moonlight, apparently struggling to move the overstuffed and awkwardly-shaped armchair closer to the empty side of the bed.

 

“What are you doing?” she mumbled at him, voice laced with sleep.

 

He immediately stopped what he was doing and stood up straight; from her considerably lower vantage point she realised his broadness and considered he could be physically intimidating, despite his often genteel appearances. “Ah, did I wake you?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe,” she responded, rubbing at her eye. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“I can’t sleep in the chair over there so I thought I’d move it over here and put my feet up on the corner of the bed,” he explained evenly.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“It’s a better idea than sleeping in the bath,” he responded flatly; it was evident that he was getting cranky from lack of sleep. Liz weighed up her options before making her choice.

 

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” she muttered to herself before addressing him again; “the bed is plenty big enough. Pass me the spare pillow.” Red tossed the pillow from the armchair over to her and watched as she placed it in the middle of the bed. “There,” she announced, “you stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

 

“Are you certain?”

 

“It’s a bed, Red. Now let me sleep, or I’ll cuff you to the radiator.”

 

“When you put it like that...” She huffed in response and soon felt the covers being pulled down and the dip as he settled himself on the opposite side. “Goodnight, _dear_.”

 

“It’s morning now, _sweetie_ ,” she mumbled mockingly before she fell asleep once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Lizzie glared at the flashing red digits on the clock-radio’s face; she was about ready to smash it into oblivion.

 

Three fifty- _fucking_ -four.

For a second time she had been rudely awakened by the one and only Raymond- _fucking_ -Reddington, only this time he was entirely too close for comfort; for all the control he exerted over himself and others in his waking hours, in slumber he was a chaotic array of limbs and a fidget. He had knocked the wind out her when he turned to face her in his sleep, his left arm swinging around and landing on her midriff; of course, his dead weight would not be moved for love nor money. His left leg was curled up and over the pillow-wall she had made and the arm slung across her waist had started to draw her into his sleeping form. Lizzie considered that it was probably for the best that the clock-radio was fixed to the bedside cabinet, as she would have smashed it over Red’s head by now; as she thought this, he began to snore.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she cursed in a whisper, not that her vocalisation helped matters. There was nothing left but to try to wake him up and send him back to his side of the bed. Gently, she shook his shoulder. “Red,” she said in what she hoped was a stern voice. No response. She shook him harder; “Raymond,” she called with a little more force which managed to get her dragged from the edge of the bed and pulled flush against the heat of his body; only the pillow separated her pyjama clad ass from him. He released a half-sigh-half-growl in her ear as he continued to sleep, apparently unaware of the distress he was causing her. He drew his knees up behind hers, entwining their legs together, and curled her into him further. He stopped moving then, which gave her brain the chance to consider that – if she ignored the fact that she was a married woman – she felt quite safe ensconced in the arms of the criminal mastermind who smelled quite nice; and that, in her sleep-deprived delirium, she didn’t feel too bad about that realisation... until the pillow between them was dislodged. She felt it then, hot and heavy through his silk pyjamas, against the small of her back. “Oh my God,” she hissed into the darkness of the room, feeling as though she would never be able to look Red in the eye again.

  

“Mmmm...” Red groaned in his sleep and proceeded to grind his hard-on into her back. “Jesus,” he slurred huskily, and she could swear the room had just got hotter. “Oh, Lizzie,” he whispered, briefly flexing the hand now resting over her hip, giving it a squeeze, before he stilled again. Her brain went into meltdown and alarm bells rang between her ears – had she just heard him whisper her fucking _name_ in his sleep whilst sporting a hard-on? It was, to her mind, beyond insane. She had been told by Zomani that Red was obsessed by her, but she had never considered that he thought of her in a sexual way.

His exhalations danced across her collarbone, first cooling and then chilling her skin; a stark contrast to the heat generated from their bodies under the covers. Carefully, she managed to get hold of the duvet and had just pulled it up to her chin when she felt him jerk against her, and she knew from the change in his breathing that he was now awake; unsure how he would react to their positioning, and not wanting to talk about it at that moment, Lizzie feigned sleep. He withdrew his arm from her, allowing her room to move slightly in her ‘sleep’, however this rubbed her hip against his still-hard cock; she both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath before he carefully extricated himself from her altogether.

 

“Should’ve stayed in the chair,” she heard him mumble to himself before he quietly rose from the bed and padded into the small bathroom, locking the door behind him. Remembering who she was there with she sat bolt-upright in the bed, only relaxing slightly when she saw his clothes were still folded neatly on the floor – she couldn’t have him escaping out the bathroom window in the early hours. Five minutes after he had entered the bathroom she began to worry what was keeping him so long – had he decided to make a break for it? Three minutes later the lock slid back and Reddington emerged from the bathroom, stopping dead when he saw Lizzie sitting up in the bed.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted.

 

“What took you so long?”

 

“I had a, ah, personal matter to attend to.”

 

“Oh, right.” He didn’t move from the spot. “So, are you going to go back to sleep or not?”

 

“I could probably do with another hour or so,” he admitted.

 

“Good, because I’ve had next to no sleep, thanks to you.”

 

“Really?” At his surprise she realised that she should have kept that to herself; he would no doubt bring the whole night up and find out exactly when she was awake and what she had witnessed while he slept unawares.

 

“Yes. You’ve snored, fidgeted, and talked in your sleep,” she listed, “and you are _so_ lucky that clock is bolted to the table.”

 

Apparently satisfied that she hadn’t noticed his previous state of arousal, Red chuckled in response as he moved back to his side of the bed. “My wife used to say the same thing, except she would threaten me with the lamp which wasn’t bolted down,” he said conversationally as he slid back under the covers.

 

“However did she resist?”

 

“I simply made her forget,” he answered nonchalantly, though gave her a saucy wink to convey the manner in which he brought about his ex-wife’s ‘forgetfulness’.

 

“Oh.” Liz was sure the blush on her face reached right down to her toes.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed. Now, lie down and get some of that sleep I’ve so rudely deprived you of.”

 

“You’re not going back to sleep?”

 

“I will once you are asleep.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Elizabeth woke to find herself spooning a sleeping Reddington, carefully she craned her neck around to see it was just past five in the morning and still dark outside; she was prepared to go back to sleep but found herself stuck in the same position as Red had effectively trapped her hands in his own.

 

“You’re awake,” he stated, startling her.

 

“Jesus, Reddington, I thought you were asleep.”

 

“I couldn’t sleep with you snoring into my back.”

 

“I do not snore.”

 

“I beg to differ, Lizzie.”

 

“Can I have my hands back?”

 

“They were cold.”

 

“And that was your concern, why?”

 

“They were on my leg.” Lizzie was glad he couldn’t see her face as she registered his words and tried to imagine just what sort of position she was sleeping in to have achieved that.

 

“Oh, I’m, er... sorry?”

 

“Not at all. The room is cold; you can be embarrassed to wake like this and move back to your cold side of the bed or you can stay like this and we can both be warm – regardless of what you witnessed earlier.”

 

“It’s a little awkward.”

 

“What is?”

 

“You said my name... in your sleep. No scratch that, you didn’t just say it, you fucking _sighed_ it while you were _grinding_ against my ass, Red.” He didn’t respond so she pushed the subject; “Is there something I should know?”

 

“You’re a beautiful woman, Lizzie. What hot-blooded male wouldn’t react in such a way?”

 

“But Zomani said-“

 

“Forget what he said; Zomani knew nothing. I am _interested_ in you, Lizzie; I am investing my time and knowledge in you, my freedom rests on your shoulders. I want to see you succeed.”

 

“Doesn’t explain the hard-on,” she pointed out.

 

“I am a man with a man’s needs. As soon as I woke and noticed where I was and who I was with I dealt with it in the bathroom, what else were you expecting?” She shrugged. “Did you expect me to turn you around and _ravish_ you, Lizzie? To have my ‘wicked criminal way’?” he practically growled, “Because that’s what I’m used to doing and that’s what I’ve given up for my list and ultimately for _you_.”

 

“And I’ve practically given up a child and jeopardised my marriage for _you_ and your damn list.”

 

“Oh, come on, Lizzie. Tom’s hardly-“

 

“Hardly what?” She was getting sick of arguing with the back of his head.

 

“He’s too safe for you.”

 

“I like safe. He’s kind-hearted, he loves me, he’s stable, and he wants the same things I do; he’s perfect.”

 

“You found something though, didn’t you?” he probed.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She knew she’d said it too quickly and that Red would jump on her lie.

 

Red turned around to face her and regarded her across the pillow for a moment. “Come now, Lizzie. You know you can’t lie to me. You found something and now you’re questioning just how much you really know your husband, aren’t y-” Red was cut off as Lizzie launched herself across the bed at him, rolling him on to his stomach, holding his hands behind his back and straddling his waist.

 

“My marriage and my husband are off-limits from now on, understand?” she hissed into his ear before straightening to get her cuffs.

 

“Shame the cuffs are on the nightstand; just a little too far out of reach, aren’t they? No pens, either.” Taunt delivered, Red used his weight to roll her underneath him, trapping her in the cage of his arms.

 

“Fuck you,” she spat and began to hit his body anywhere she could land a decent punch; his reaction was to lower himself until his weight kept her pinned to the bed and his arms trapped her own, stopping her from punching him, or kicking out with her legs which he had also effectively trapped with his own.

 

“Manners,” he scolded lightly, chuckling as she attempted to wriggle her way out of his grasp. “If you keep fighting me every step of the way, you’ll only make things more difficult for yourself.”

 

Jesus, his weight felt good bearing down on her like that. Tom had been so distant since Zomani paid them a home visit, and – Red was right, as usual – the contents of the box haunted her like some sort of tell-tale heart under the floorboards. Red was always there if she called and she knew he would never tell her what she wanted to hear, instead she would get the truth as it was, along with his own unique viewpoint. She had lacked any sort of physical contact with Tom for months and her existing emotional state, combined with a lack of decent sleep, made her feel somewhat outside of herself; she felt as though she was watching herself as she raised her hand and placed it on Red’s cheek.

 

“I don’t know who I can trust anymore,” she began, almost dreamily. “I want to feel that I shouldn’t trust you, but you’ve never lied to me yet.” Their eyes locked and she sensed he was confirming her conclusion – he would never lie to her outright. Her hand grazed from his cheek, up over his temple and caressed the stubbly hair atop his balding head. “All that money and you didn’t think to go for implants?”

 

“Heard the term ‘growing old gracefully’?” he murmured, craning his neck to follow her hand with eyes closed.

 

“You’re hardly old,” she responded with a tap to the top of his head before continuing to trace imaginary patterns into his scalp with her fingertips; with a sigh, Red scooted himself further down her body to lie more comfortably and enjoy her attention. “So the dream you were having... the one that sent you into the bathroom. Were you having your ‘wicked criminal way’ then?”

 

“Nothing wicked or criminal, I assure you.”

 

“I thought that was what you’re used to?”

 

“Ah, yes, but not necessarily what I want.”

 

“So what do you want?”

 

“For you to carry on doing this and never stop; my scalp is _singing_ , Lizzie. In all seriousness, I want a great romance, a companion and an equal to share the rest of my life with; I’ve not found that in the places I’ve been for the last decade – money can’t make anyone more interesting and it certainly doesn’t make one lovable.”

 

“So you were dreaming about which part?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The great romance, the companion, or the equal?”

 

“All three.”

 

“And you thought of me?”

 

“Apparently my subconscious mind has introduced you to my wants, yes.”

 

“And what does that mean for us working together?”

 

He lifted himself and moved back up the bed until they were face-to-face once more. “That depends on you, Lizzie.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

 

“Wha-” Her mind went blank when his lips covered hers. Her immediate reaction was to throw him off of her, but she stopped herself from doing so; she wasn’t sure whether she should respond, or if she should but shouldn’t be too eager-

 

“Stop thinking,” he urged before initiating another, gentler kiss. She tried to shut out most of the noise in her head, and focused instead on the softness of his lips against hers, the sound of him breathing through his nose, the scratch of his stubble on her chin, and the way his weight was half settled over her – comforting instead of crushing... she was safe. She found herself beginning to respond, and lost the battle to keep her arms at her sides, finding her palms were splayed across Red’s shoulder blades, mapping the contours of his back with her fingers as though she needed to memorise them.

 

Eagerly she drank in his attentions, boldly snaking her tongue out to lave his bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth. His hands teased her camisole up and he smoothed his palms across her midsection before lightly running his fingertips up her sides, causing her to writhe from the slightly ticklish sensations; in response she pulled the t-shirt he wore up to his shoulders and tugged to signal he should stop what he was doing to remove it – he took her hint and straightened, shed the t-shirt in one fluid motion and tossed it to the floor next to the bed before gesturing that she should do the same with her own. No sooner had she removed her pyjama camisole, Red pinned her back down on the bed and turned his attention to her breasts.

 

“Delectable,” he breathed, tonguing one dusky nipple until it tightened and peaked while his fingers worked on the other to achieve the same result. Elizabeth Keen of the FBI was ‘out to lunch,’ as far as she was concerned; she needed this for herself as an escape, a means of stress relief, and it felt like it was starting to help her unwind. Lizzie ran her hands through the dusting of hair on Red’s chest and circled his nipples with her fingernails, eliciting a hiss of appreciation from him.

 

Fingers found their way into the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and whipped them down to her ankles where she kicked them off; the cool air of the motel room made her all the more aware of the slick heat between her legs, begging for attention that Red seemed all too happy to give. Liz used her feet to push the black silk bottoms down, Red wriggled out of them and tossed them to the floor with the rest of their clothing; naked as the day they were born, neither stopped to drink in the others’ appearance – it was not romantic – their only goal was to be mutual satisfaction. Lizzie grasped Red’s cock a little nervously, and spread the bead of pre-cum that had collected across its tip before guiding him inside her – he was bigger than Tom; not much longer, but certainly thicker, and as she felt her body adjusting to him she revelled in the sensation of being so deliciously filled. Red held himself still inside her until she gave a moue of impatience; he made short, slow thrusts, rotating his hips each time he slid all the way home. Bracing all of his weight on his left arm, he positioned his right hand across her abdomen and left his thumb resting atop her clit to give just a little stimulation, lowering himself to capture her lips again in a show of dominance – teeth clacked against each other, noses were squashed and tongues were nipped at as both neared their completion; she began to move more frantically, hands clutching spasmodically at his shoulders, trying to get as much friction as possible from the thumb perched just a little too high for her liking. When she noticed he was trying to control himself she pushed his thumb just where she wanted it – hard on her clit – and soon found herself on the edge.

 

“Let go, Lizzie,” Red implored, gasping from the exertion, “I want to see you.” His husky voice added to the sensations coursing through her system and she silently flew apart beneath him, bucking her hips up to meet his increasingly frantic thrusts as they rode her orgasm together; as she began her descent to reality Red growled his completion into her neck and emptied himself inside her, rolling to her right side and holding her close so as to remain inside her for as long as possible.

 

Sated and sleepy, Red spooned behind her and dozed while reality slipped back into place for Lizzie; she had just fucked her high-profile assignment and cheated on her husband, who she still didn’t know was involved in anything criminal for sure. She still had to get the car fixed or they’d never be in Edison on time for Red’s meeting with his contact, and Red himself was most likely thrilled with events which would render him even more irritating than usual when they got back home. Oddly, despite all of this being apparent to her Lizzie didn’t feel the need to cry; she didn’t feel bad for what they’d just done, and that worried her.

 

He made a face as she rolled away and his softening cock slipped from her. As quickly as possible, as she was racing against gravity, Liz grabbed her pyjamas and small washbag before locking herself in the bathroom. Perching on the toilet, she sat and felt Red’s seed dropping out of her; the final ‘plop’ of the creamy fluid could probably have been heard through the bathroom door, she thought with a small amount of embarrassment. The one concern she had, now she was alone, was that Red would take this to be the start of something regular and deeper than she intended – not that she had ever intended it to happen in the first place – she didn’t even think she wanted him before they fucked. If she brought it up she knew his response would be either cryptic or smug and she wasn’t prepared to deal with his sass just yet. She freshened herself up and slipped back into her pyjamas before exiting the bathroom where Red had slipped back into slumber, careful not to wake him Lizzie slid under the covers and soon drifted off to sleep herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving too fast? Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

She was being shaken gently by the shoulder, coaxed from slumber and loath to move from her spot cosily nestled in the curve of another’s body. “Mmmm?” she responded sleepily to the shaking, snuggling back into the warmth he provided, enjoying the arm still wrapped around her waist.

 

“Much as this is a pleasant way to wake up, I believe we have more important matters to attend to today.” His voice caused her to snap her eyes open – it was not the voice she expected to hear first thing in the morning, husband with a double life or not Tom’s voice was familiar to her in the mornings; Red’s voice, while husky, deep with sleep and not unpleasant in the least, wasn’t Tom’s. She craned her neck around to frown at Red but before she got to him she noticed how bright it was outside – they were late.

 

“Shit!” She bolted out of bed and crossed to her bag to get her clothes. “Shit, shit, shit... what time is it?”

 

“Nine fifty-six,” Red responded, amusement evident in his voice.

 

“We have to go.”

 

“Oh, but this trip was turning out to be so much more fun.” He rose from the bed, unabashedly nude, and moved to stand behind her, lightly rubbing circles into her shoulders with his thumbs. “I call shower first,” he muttered into her ear and moved away toward the bathroom.

 

“Red, we don’t have time!”

 

“There is always time for a shower, Lizzie,” he called through the door before she heard the shower hum to life. She had not heard the snick of the lock after he shut the bathroom door and this decided her actions; quickly, she dressed and brushed her hair back until it looked presentable then stormed into the bathroom to find Red in the shower, his back to her, before striding to the taps and turning the water off.

 

“Raymond Reddington,” she began in a tone that brooked no argument, “you get yourself dressed and out of that motel door, or so help me I will have your immunity revoked for refusal to co-operate with a federal agent.” She took a breath. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded all too enthusiastically, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. She threw his underpants at him and with a sigh she whirled around and left the bathroom, picking up her bag to wait outside for him; when he caught up to her she checked them out and got the number of a local vehicle recovery firm from the clerk. She used the payphone as her cell still had no signal – they really were out in the sticks – and agreed to meet the recovery truck at the car, giving them a vague description of where the car broke down.

 

“They’re going to be about an hour and they’re coming from the opposite direction, so we should walk back to the car, I think.”

 

“And I suppose I should lead?” At her nod in the affirmative he took her bag and swung it over his shoulder once more; without waiting for her surprised ‘thanks’ he turned and began the trek back to the car. Liz caught up to him and before long they were walking side by side, feeling something ambiguous in the silence between them as they trudged. Red soon broke the silence as they approached the crossroads. “I quite enjoyed your rant this morning; it was authoritative, yet desperate... and _undeniably_ sexy.” She snorted, before considering that their early morning tumble in the sheets might mean something more to Red than she wanted it to.

 

“Red, what happened this morning-”

 

“I won’t say a word,” he assured her.

 

“Yeah, not until it suits you to. Anyway, it’s not going to happen again.”

 

“Ho, ho! So sure of yourself. How do you know?”

 

“Because we’re never going to be in that situation ever again.”

 

“Shame.”

 

They spent the rest of the walk to the car in a more tense silence; Lizzie fuming at Red’s presumptuous nature and his blatant amusement at her fury. Soon enough they were back at the car.

 

“So, are we playing house again for the recovery company?” Red asked as he deposited their overnight bags in the trunk.

 

“I did say I was travelling with my husband, yes,” she responded curtly.

 

“Hmm. I suppose you _are_ still wearing that ring.” He sniffed dismissively.

 

“Despite what’s happened, Tom is still my husband and I don’t like the tone you use when you refer to anything to do with him.”

 

“There’s something off about him, Lizzie. He’s too perfect.”

 

“It’s none of your business, Reddington. He’s perfect for me, and we don’t keep important secrets from each other. There’ll be a logical explanation for everything, just you wait.”

 

“So he knows it’s an open marriage now? No important secrets, after all.”

 

“You gave me no choice!” she blurted, knowing it was a bad move and a lie.

 

In a flash, Red had her pinned to the car with his body and tugged on her hair to pull her head back. “So it was rape, now, was it?” he questioned, eyes flashing ruthlessly; she found herself suddenly frightened. “I didn’t hear you complaining; in fact, you didn’t once tell me to stop – were you thinking of your perfect husband _then_ , Lizzie? Hmm?”

 

“N-no. I didn’t mean- I didn’t know that-” her eyes misted with unshed tears as she searched for an explanation that she hadn’t found yet. “What am I doing?” His grip slackened on her and his eyes softened, he sighed and she watched his features changes from anger to his usual neutral mask and finally to a concerned frown.

 

“Your best?” he offered quietly.

 

“I thought I was, but my best is now jeopardising my chances at adopting a child, mistrust of everybody I should be able to count on, and I don’t feel safe in my own home or know who I’ve been sharing that home with for years; oh, and did I tell you about that one time I shacked up with one of the FBIs Most Wanted – the _Concierge of Crime_ no less!” She sagged against him, content in her self-pity to have him hold her upright against the car.

 

“Lizzie, Lizzie... you’re doing fine. Your life is tumultuous at present, yes, but things will soon be clearer for you; give yourself time,” he assured her, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder.

 

“I don’t suppose you have any mad scientist contacts that’ve cracked time travel?” she mumbled, only half-jokingly.

 

“Mad scientists, yes, although they specialist in the ‘enough firepower to blow you back to last Wednesday’ sort of time travel.”

 

“I would like to arrive in one piece, so I’ll pass.”

 

“Where? Or, rather, when?”

 

“The day I decided to become an agent.”

 

He was silent for a moment before he responded. “You’d change your mind?”

 

“I feel like I would, if I knew how I was feeling now.” She sniffled into his shoulder. “I mean, how is it that you irritate me beyond all reason, yet you’re the only one that ever listens to me and doesn’t judge?”

 

“I’ve told you before,” he began, moving her so he could see her face before offering her a handkerchief, “you’re special, Lizzie.” She offered a small smile at his familiar words, though her eyes did not meet his. The roar of an engine signalled the arrival of the recovery truck. Liz straightened her jacket, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Here come the saviours,” Red joked as the pickup pulled up in front of their sedan.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think he’s coming today,” Red muttered surreptitiously to Liz, who was now nursing her second glass of red wine in the only bar in the small township of Edison.

 

“Maybe he’s having car trouble?” she jested, idly running her finger around the rim of the glass.

 

Reddington sipped his wine. “Perhaps.”

 

“Is it worrying you, him not being here?”

 

“Not at all. I’ll leave a message for him behind the bar and we can see how our only mode of transport is faring. Besides, he is infamous for being late.”

 

“How late is ‘late’?”

 

“Last I heard, his personal best is three months.”

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Liz cursed and rubbed at her temples with her fingertips in an attempt to stave off the blooming headache she felt coming on. “Just how essential is he?”

 

“He is the key to Number Nine.”

 

“Well, he’d better hurry it up then,” she thought aloud. “So it’ll be another overnight stay?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“I think I saw a guesthouse as we came into town.”

 

“No need.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a short lease property.”

 

“In town?”

 

“Yes, just on the outskirts. I’ve had the legalities checked and moved some of my furniture in; I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve been surrounded by my own things.”

 

“How long have you known we would be coming here?” she questioned suspiciously.

 

“My contact is essential to your apprehending Nine and this little town is his old stomping ground; he feels safe here, so there was naturally never an alternative.”

 

“I see,” she nodded. “So how long have you got the place rented for?”

 

“It’s on a rolling monthly contract.”

 

“And it’s fully furnished?”

 

“Yes, and you have your own bed, you’ll be pleased to know. We just need to stock the kitchen cupboards.”

 

“We can head to the store after checking out the car?” Lizzie suggested.

 

“Perfect,” Red announced, flashing her a wolfish smile. Liz continued to insist that he walked slightly ahead of her, but Red had other ideas: “Would you mind masquerading as my wife when we meet my contact?”

 

“Why?” she questioned defensively.

 

“I have been absent for a time and he’s the paranoid sort. If he thinks I’ve been gallivanting around on an extended honeymoon he’ll loosen his jaw quicker, I’d wager.”

 

“So long as that’s all.”

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Lizzie pulled the car, now fully repaired, into the driveway of the little two-bed house Reddington had directed her to. They had shopped, argued about Lizzie’s cooking, and eventually agreed that Red would act as chef for the duration of their stay. He had convinced her to play the part of his wife whenever they were seen together in town – his contact had eyes everywhere, he'd reasoned – and she had eventually agreed, though reluctantly. Laden with shopping bags, the pair entered the property and Red headed straight through to the kitchen signalling for Liz to follow.

 

Together they unpacked the groceries and stocked the cupboards, Red keeping a few aside for their dinner; when she would stop to think on it much later, the ease with which they decided what should go where would unnerve her. He rummaged in the cupboards, set a mixing bowl on the counter, a frying pan on the burner, and fetched a whisk from the nearest drawer which he shut with a tap of his hip; Liz had the distinct impression that Red enjoyed cooking, which was a good sign – if he enjoyed it then he was probably good at it, and she was hungry.

 

“Would you be a dear and chop the mushrooms?” Red asked, snapping her out of her train of thought; she nodded mutely and took the knife he held out for her.

 

“What’re we having?”

 

“Mushroom omelette, just a simple supper,” he responded, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl and adding a splash of milk. Sea salt and cracked pepper went in next. Done with the mushrooms, she moved to set their places at the small kitchen table in the middle of the room as Red whisked and poured their dinner into the frying pan, setting their plates on the counter ready for the omelettes to be served before she sat herself down at the table. In a matter of minutes Red placed her dinner in front of her, and she felt her stomach rumble appreciatively at the smell wafting from the plate. “Tuck in,” he urged before cutting into his own meal. She was right about his cooking skills; hell, she’d eat omelette every day if it was as good as this – her own efforts had always ended in black smoke and burnt eggs stuck to a non-stick pan. Her thoughts drifted to her own home and how its kooky charm used to be something to rush home to but now, compared to what Red had done with the property she sat in, her home felt more like a slum. He had evidently had the place cleaned, and it seemed to be newly decorated; elaborately woven rugs covered plush carpets and the lighting was not too bright, further adding to the warmth of the place; wooden beams and aged oak furniture lent a certain solidity to their surroundings. She realised that this was essentially her home, until the contact deigned to show himself at least, and she wondered then what her room was like – had Red furnished it with her in mind? She was snapped out of her reverie when her empty plate was removed from the table, and she immediately rose from her seat to find Red depositing their cutlery in the sink. She watched as he methodically rolled up his shirtsleeves and set the hot tap on to fill the bowl.

 

“Let me,” she said softly, moving to join him at the sink.

 

“You can dry if you like,” he responded, testing the heat of the water in the bowl and turning the cold tap on to even it out. Lizzie nodded and grabbed the dishtowel, taking each item from him once he was done cleaning it, and placing them back into the drawers and cupboards she watched him remove them from. She stood from her crouched position at the cupboard the mixing bowl had been returned to and turned around to find Red leaning against the opposite counter, arms loosely crossed over his chest, regarding her casually. She raised a brow at him by way of a question. “I think we ought to lay some ground rules,” he said in his usual dry tone.

 

“Really?”

 

“No stabbings, please; you’ll notice there aren’t any pens just lying around. I won’t be endangered in my own home by my own housemate.”

 

“No talking about Tom,” she retorted.

 

“No shoes upstairs.”

 

“No smoking in the house.” At his stunned silence she expanded; “I’ve seen you slinking off when you think nobody notices.”

 

“Touché,” he acquiesced. “Is there anything further you wish to add?”

 

“I will be agreeable and civil provided you will do me the same courtesy,” she said and he nodded his understanding and agreement. “Now, can I see my room?”

 

“Top of the stairs, door on the right,” he directed.

 

Lizzie climbed the stairs to find herself on a small landing; there were three doors. She took the one to the right – hers – and stepped inside the room. The lamp on the nightstand was already on, bathing the room in soft light. The room was furnished tastefully with dark wooden furniture; vanity table, bedside cabinet, armoire, and a queen size sleigh bed. A chaise longue sat in front of a set of doors, flanked by deep red velvet curtains, which led out on to the balcony. As she wandered around her new room, touching all of the furnishings, she wondered what Red’s room was like – it would tell her so much more about the enigma of Raymond Reddington. Rather than snoop completely unannounced she returned to the landing and called down the stairs to him; “Which door is the bathroom?”

 

“The one opposite yours,” came the response from downstairs. She opened and closed the bathroom door, making it sound like she had gone to freshen up, but instead tiptoed over to his door and carefully turned the handle. The drapes were drawn, the bedside lamp – the same as hers, she noted – switched on; the room was dark and brooding, walls painted deep burgundy, and the furniture was dark, however the linens on the four poster bed were a crisp white – starkly contrasting with the rest of the room. The room smelled of sandalwood and musk; it was Red’s scent, but so much more concentrated.

 

“Curiosity killed the cat, Lizzie,” his voice carried from the doorway, startling her.

 

“I was curious about the whole place.”

 

“I find it curiouser still that you would ignore the bathroom completely, then.” She hoped that he did not register the blush she knew stained her face and neck from being caught doing something she shouldn’t.

 

“I wanted to see how my room compared.”

 

“And?”

 

“I like my room,” she assured, “and we share a balcony.”

 

“I shan’t be swooping into your room at all hours; both sets of doors have their own keys, likewise with the bedroom doors. I’ve left the keys for the doors in your room in your bedside cabinet,” he informed her. “Come,” he turned and gestured for her to follow, “you should see the bathroom.”

 

Lizzie was impressed; she could see herself spending hours in the tiled sanctuary of the bathroom. The room itself was large, with a walk in shower – featuring the biggest shower head she had ever seen, a sunken bathtub, and a double sink unit with gleaming tap; even the toilet looked comfortable. He looked over to her and she nodded her approval; he smiled, having seen her eyes light up at the sight of the bath.

 

“I’m glad you like the house. I’ll just fetch our things from the downstairs; we may need more clothes if we’re going to wait for my contact to show.”

 

“I’ll need to update the bureau on the situation.”

 

“Of course,” he nodded, “I keep forgetting you’re my handler.”

 

“Yeah, well... don’t,” she replied lamely.

 

“Tired?”

 

“Yeah.” She checked her phone. “Still no goddamn signal.”

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Sir,” Liz affirmed down the headset plugged into her laptop – Red had given her the Wi-Fi password in order for her to have some contact with the FBI – Cooper was checking on their status and the plan; he wasn’t happy about it. “Yes, the house is secure... Quite secluded, yes... No, I have them... Our cover story is holding up. Yes, I’m sure Reddington and I will work out the details.” She paused while Cooper spoke. “I’m aware of that, Sir.” A roll of her eyes before becoming serious again. “Tom? No, I haven’t called him yet... I will do that, Sir. I appreciate that... I’ll be in touch daily via e-mail and will call if there are any important developments. Yes. Thank you, Sir.” She shut off the connection and disconnected her headset, sighing at the laptop screen.

 

“You were lying,” Red stated from the doorway where he’d been quietly listening.

 

“You were eavesdropping,” she retorted flatly.

 

“What did you expect? You told Cooper you had the keys, didn’t you?”

 

She sighed, turning to fix him with a withering look. “Face it, Reddington; we’re hardly working by the book. If I’d told Cooper the situation as it is he’d have surveillance setting up camp outside, asap.”

 

“What makes you think he won’t?”

 

“There’ll be a weekly meeting in the next town over that he’ll personally attend, and daily updates via e-mail. I’ve impressed upon him the skittish nature of your contact.”

 

“And if the locals ask where we go at the same time every week?”

 

“Visiting a relative?”

 

“Who?”

 

“An uncle?”

 

Red sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, unimpressed. “We need to flesh out our cover, sort out the back story.”

 

“Now?”

 

“No, we’ll dedicate tomorrow to that. Perhaps you should get some sleep?”

 

“Maybe I should have the keys?”

 

“What?” he laughed at her suggestion and shook his head, bemused. “Nonsense.”

 

“What if I just have the keys to your room? I could lock you in overnight?”

 

“Or you could trust me to deal with the security of this house and our safety. Don’t offend me by thinking I’m under the illusion that I am free here, Elizabeth; while I am surrounded by my own possessions for the first time in a _very_ long time, this is still a prison of sorts.” He moved into her room, though remained by the door. “You’ve already lied to Cooper, Lizzie, just tell him you lock me in every night.”

 

“I just-”

 

“Lizzie, don’t you trust me?”

 

“For the most part,” she admitted.

 

“Well that settles it. I’ve no plans to go disappearing off into the night at any rate; somebody in the town would notice.”

 

“In the middle of the night?”

 

“For the most part, people in these small townships are naturally suspicious of newcomers.”

 

“I suppose I get that,” she admitted.

 

“Right.” He nodded to her and moved to exit her room. “Goodnight, Lizzie.”

 

“Night.” He closed the door quietly and she listened to his footfalls as he descended the stairs before moving to find her pyjamas. Slipping the camisole over her head she caught Red’s scent still clinging to it and her emotions roiled a little at the memory of the night before, which felt more like a week before after the events of the day. She shook herself a little, told herself to get a grip, and moved across the landing to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Back in her room she sat on the bed for the first time to find the mattress firm but not uncomfortable; she slid under the heavy duvet and snuggled into the plump pillows, soon slipping into a deep slumber, the events of the past two days catching up to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, domesticity. Couple of chapters worth of filler before it gets interesting again. Moar H.M.S. on it's way also. Yummers. (I disgust myself).


	4. Chapter 4

Lizzie awoke to a knock on her door. She cracked her eyelids open against the low winter morning sunshine streaming through the balcony doors, inwardly cursing that she didn’t close the drapes before she turned in; the knocking persisted.

 

“It’s unlocked,” she called, voice cracking from its first use of the day. The handle turned and the door opened quietly, far enough for Red to poke his head around the frame.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted dryly. “Rest well?”

 

“Yes, thanks,” she said with a small smile, moving into a sitting position under the covers. She had slept amazingly and felt refreshed for the rest.

 

“Breakfast is ready,” he informed her.

 

“Oh, um... I’ll just get dressed and-“

 

“No need. I’ve a robe you can use; just a second.” He disappeared from the doorway and Liz heard him enter his own room and rummage around in his wardrobe before he reappeared, this time sauntering into her room and over to the bed, holding the burgundy silk garment out to her.

 

“Thanks,” Lizzie offered, taking the robe and slipping it on over her pyjamas before exiting the room behind him. She excused herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth, assuring him she wouldn’t be long. Descending the stairs, Lizzie’s nose was assaulted by the smell of cooked bacon and eggs. He had cooked her breakfast?

 

“Come, sit,” he urged, holding her chair out for her at the small kitchen table. Once she seated herself he took the chair opposite and they both tucked into their breakfast with gusto, having not eaten a great deal since they left D.C.

 

“So,” she began after polishing off her toast, “we’re going with newlyweds still?”

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“We don’t have that rosy just-got-back-from-the-honeymoon glow to us, do we?”

 

“I suppose not. That’s the main issue you see with it?”

 

“Yeah, I just don’t think it’ll ring true.”

 

“I’m surprised you’re so accepting of the idea of being married to me at all.”

 

“The fact has been established in town. We can’t go changing it now, and-” she stopped herself when she noticed the smirk playing about his lips. “You’re baiting me.”

 

“It really is too easy, and you fluster so prettily.”

 

“And what constitutes a pretty fluster?”

 

“We’re getting off track.” He began to clear their plates. “I’ll clean up down here while you go freshen up and we’ll meet in the sitting room to discuss our backstories.”

 

“Sounds like a blast.”

 

 

* * *

 

Having showered and dressed in the jeans she stuffed in her bag at last minute and a navy v-neck knitted sweater, Liz descended the stairs, _sans_ shoes as per Red’s rule. The doorbell rang and, without thinking, she opened the front door to find an elderly woman standing on the front step; she wore a lilac pantsuit and a sweet smile.

 

“Oh, hello,” Liz greeted, remembering to smile as naturally as possible as she ran what little Red had told her of their backstory through her head.

 

“Hi dear, hope you don’t mind my dropping by; I saw you’ve finally moved in and thought I’d come greet my new neighbours.”

 

“Who is it dear?” Red’s voice enquired from the kitchen. Liz looked to the woman to answer his question for her.

 

“Ethel,” the old woman smiled, “from number 67, just down the road.”

 

“It’s Ethel, from just down the road,” Liz called back through the house. “Why don’t you come say hi to our neighbour?” At her suggestion Red came to the door, a warm smile on his face, and placed his hand around Lizzie’s. She fought not to jump back and ask him what the fuck he thought he was doing – it was all part of their ruse, she reminded herself.

 

“Ethel, hi,” he greeted through his smile, “David Norton,” he extended his free hand to her before withdrawing to gesture to Liz, “and this is my wife, Claire.”

 

“Lovely to meet you both,” Ethel gushed, “I was just saying to Claire that I thought I’d come and say hello now that you’re finally moved in! If you ever need anything, my husband John and I are just down the road.” She proceeded to bid them farewell before leaving their front step in a haze of lilac. Lizzie pulled her hand from Red’s and closed the front door, turning around to rest her back against it before fixing her eyes on Red with an unimpressed look.

 

“ _Claire_?” she questioned, disapproval evident in her voice.

 

“You don’t like it,” he stated flatly.

 

“Well it’s been established now, hasn’t it, _David_?” she sniped.

 

“Yes. David and Claire – I thought it suited you; married for two and a half years, made their money in property and wanted to move somewhere quiet. No children, no pets; the latter on account of David’s allergies to fur, and-”

 

“Are _you_ allergic to fur?”

 

“Cats only,” he admitted, not missing a beat.

 

“So, how much of this have you planned out already?”

 

“The basic framework, I need you to help fill in the details.”

 

“Can we write it down?”

 

“Only if you burn it afterwards.”

 

“That’s fine, I like fire.”

 

He raised both eyebrows at her. “You’re a closet pyromaniac?”

 

“Kinda difficult to keep that sort of activity in the closet.”

 

“Touché.” He moved toward the sitting room. “Come, let’s brainstorm!” Liz rolled her eyes behind his back and followed him, under the impression that he would enjoy this far too much for her liking.

 

 

* * *

 

“What is your name?”

 

“Claire Julia Norton, née Fields.”

 

“When and where did we meet?”

 

“Five years ago in a coffee house in Boston, where I was studying psychology at Boston University. You spilled coffee on my book and insisted you buy me a new one; we discovered our love of literature was the same and began seeing each other.”

 

“And when and where did we marry?”

 

“Two and a half years ago, June twelfth, in Tuscany. We had a small ceremony with a few close friends.”

 

“And didn’t you look as beautiful as the day we first met,” he leered theatrically; she smirked.

 

“And you’re balder,” she quipped.

 

“Charming.” He returned to his line of questioning, becoming more personable and less interrogative. “Remember Mustique?”

 

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, “our own private beach.” They shared a knowing smile, rehearsed of course.

 

“I think you’ve got it down,” he said, returning to the Red she knew.

 

“That was gruelling.”

 

“But necessary.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Let’s go out tonight,” Red suggested out of the blue. She’d noticed he had been wandering listlessly around the house. She rolled her eyes; they hadn’t been there more than twenty-four hours and he was already climbing the walls – she dreaded to think what he’d be like after a week.

 

“Where to? The bar in town?”

 

“Or out of town?”

 

“We can’t go out of town.”

 

“They have my location at all times, Lizzie,” he gestured to his neck, “they’re hardly going to lose us.”

 

“It’s more about the fact I will have to explain our actions.”

 

“Blowing off steam? I’m sure Cooper and Ressler would understand your need to get out of the house; you’re trapped in here with _me_ after all.”

 

“Wanna bet?” she shot back. “Besides, ‘blowing off steam’? You make it sound like we’re going to get wrecked and go to a rave or something.”

 

“Heavens, no!” he exclaimed. “Why? Do you want to go to one? It could be fun.”

 

“Not anymore,” she laughed, “you know anywhere outside town?”

 

“We could head up to Newark; there’s a delightful restaurant there – I rather think you’ll like it.”

 

“Do we need to dress for the occasion?”

 

“Of course; we’ll do a spot of shopping beforehand.”

 

“So it’s turning into a day trip?”

 

 

* * *

 

An insistent Red convinced Liz to take a cab into town. The departed shortly after lunch, once she had pocketed her phone and sent an e-mail to Cooper; the fare was extortionate, however he took care of it. Red was obviously familiar with Newark and strode confidently down the streets, pulling her along with him when she stopped in front of a store with a large “SALE” sign posted in the window; he informed her that they would find suitable attire for dinner first and then get on with everyday purchases. She grumbled, but agreed and followed him into Raven’s, a high-end store selling all sorts of luxury goods; she paled at the price tags she caught sight of and tried to keep up with Red, who seemed to be completely at home, talking animatedly about hats with the store manager.

 

Two hours later saw Red with a new three piece suit, three new shirts, a variety of pocket squares and a new hat; Liz had selected a little black dress, to which Red expressed his approval and insisted she get shoes and a bag to match. Once they had found her shoes and accessories they saw that the day was slipping away from them. Red managed to charm the store manager into allowing them to change into their dinner attire in the store’s fitting rooms. Once ready he took their bags and guided her through the town to the restaurant he had mentioned previously, _The Secret Garden_. Tiny lights covered the ceiling and cast a low light throughout the restaurant, with larger lanterns hanging above the tables, ensuring all patrons were cast in the best possible light. The maître d’ took their bags and had them placed in the secure cloakroom before showing them to a table; she saw Red slip him a fifty, so she was unsurprised when they were shown to a booth that ensured their conversation would remain between them and the other diners would not see them.

 

They ordered a bottle of Chanson Beaune Premier Cru, as Red assured her it was “a circus of flavours; you’ll never drink anything else!” They looked over the menu in companionable silence, the atmosphere of the restaurant relaxing them. The wine arrived and Red took the glass proffered by the waiter, tasted the rich red substance, considering it before announcing it to be “perfect, as usual.” They ordered their meals; Red favouring the venison fillet steak and Liz sticking to a fillet mignon beef steak. The waiter left them to themselves, and they chatted cordially about general subjects, however it wasn't long before Red broached the subject of their night together.

 

“We should talk about what transpired at the motel.”

 

“I think everything that needs to be said has been said.”

 

“I beg to differ, Lizzie. I, for one, would like to know exactly why it was that you gave over to me so readily.” He knew he’d touched a nerve so continued his line of questioning; “What made you so easy?”

 

“Because,” she began, fighting to keep her voice down, “because I-”

 

“I’m not here to judge you, Lizzie; I’m just curious,” he encouraged, “don’t you think you could put my curiosity to bed?” He winked at her, baiting her further.

 

“Because you’re all I have,” she blurted before clapping her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, at the admission she hadn’t even faced up to herself. She took a breath and expanded on her answer; “You are the only one I feel I know anything for sure about now, and that’s not exactly saying much.”

 

Red remained silent for a few moments, perhaps absorbing her confession, as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass; he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, placing the glass back down on the table before speaking. “You know a great deal more about me than you think, Lizzie; more than most.”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Petulance doesn’t suit you, my dear. You do, trust me. The Ressler’s and Cooper’s of this world only look as far as the pages of the dossiers they speed read – they see me as they see the bullet points of my life on those pages, in black and white.”

 

“Profiling is extrapolation of that information and application of-”

 

“I’m not talking about your skills as a profiler, Elizabeth.”

 

“Well, what _are_ you talking about, Red?”

 

“You see me.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“I’ve told you before that I will never see you hurt – I haven’t exactly kept my word, however I have let you into my life, Lizzie, and I will never intentionally hurt you myself.” He paused for a moment before continuing; “On so many occasions you have surprised me, Lizzie, and I do love a good surprise.” She snorted. “You know me better than most because you are not one of my clients, and while you are in the employ of the FBI I did not have you brought to me because of that fact.”

 

“What am I then?”

 

“Well, were I twenty years younger-”

 

“Which you are not,” she cut him off.

 

“I still wouldn’t mind.” He smirked saucily over the rim of his wine glass before taking another sip.

 

“Stop being such a letch,” she reprimanded, taking a long sip of her own wine.

 

“I resent that. I’ve told you before that I find you quite beautiful, especially when you’re mad at me.”

 

“Yeah, well, watch it – there may be no pens at hand, but I have a steak knife.”

 

“At the very least you are an ally, and a friend,” he said after a long and contemplative pause.

 

“I’ll be your ally,” she said with certainty, as though they were making a pact of sorts, meeting his eyes.

 

“Wonderful.” He smiled at her, breaking eye contact as their dinners arrived. As they ate, conversation turned to discussions about some of the furniture he had in the house and the many places worldwide he’d sourced his furniture from. They were soon finished with their food and the wine was gone, so Red signalled for the bill and once they had paid he rose from his seat. “Let’s go home,” he said, to which Liz nodded and stood also. Red held out his arm to her; she took it and they strolled to the front desk to get their shopping and to request a taxi.

 

The cab journey back to Edison was spent in silence, although much of the tension that plagued the journey to Newark was not present and Liz found herself relaxing a little, only to tense up again; Red noticed her abrupt change in posture. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

 

“I’m going to need to give Cooper a report when we get home,” she stated glumly.

 

“We were fishing for info on the whereabouts of my contact,” he offered.

 

“Yes, I’ve already told him that. Why won’t you give me his name?”

 

“Because,” Red began, lowering his voice so the cab driver could not hear them, “if the FBI show up he’ll disappear completely.”

 

“Criminals,” she huffed.

 

“We make your job more interesting,” he chuckled.

 

“No, you make it a _hazard_ ,” she returned, earning a further chuckle.

 

“You e-mail Cooper when we get in and I’ll open another bottle.”

 

“I don’t know about the wine,” she said.

 

“Nonsense,” he scoffed, “you’ve had two glasses; let yourself unwind, Lizzie!” At his mention of unwinding Liz was assaulted by flashes of their tryst in the motel room, and she felt herself flush at the memories as she tried to force them from the forefront of her mind.

 

When they arrived home, Liz slipped off her shoes and took their shopping bags upstairs, stopping in her room to switch on her laptop and e-mail Cooper. She said they were trying to get information on the whereabouts of Red’s contact and that Red was securely locked in his room. She was getting used to lying to the FBI, and this worried her. Stopping herself following any trains of thought that Red might pick up on, she descended the stairs to join Reddington in the sitting room and polish off another bottle of red wine.


	5. Chapter 5

Liz and Red had stayed downstairs until the small hours of the morning, polishing off two bottles of red wine. It was unsurprising then that she woke with a headache, however when she rolled over in bed to check the clock – it was just past six in the morning – her stomach roiled and she bolted out of bed and into the bathroom, dropping to her knees and clutching the porcelain of the toilet as she retched into it. Red must have woken up due to the commotion she had caused, as he hurried out of his bedroom, quietly approaching her and holding her hair as she retched.

 

“I think it was the wine,” she offered by way of explanation, as though the dark purple vomit wasn’t evidence enough, “I really don’t feel great.”

 

“Stay here for a moment,” Red ordered softly. She listened to his descending footsteps pad their way into the kitchen and heard the pipes creak as he turned the tap on; he returned moments later with a tall glass of cold water which he handed to her before dampening a washcloth and crouching next to her to wipe her face, concern in his eyes. “I didn’t think you had that much,” he commented.

 

“I’m not great with red wine,” she admitted.

 

“I’ll be sure to remember that in future.”

 

“But I do like it,” she insisted, eliciting a bark of laugher from him that made her flinch.

 

“Yes, but it doesn’t like you,” he commented. “Are you still drunk?” She shook her head and groaned at the sensation it caused. Red stood and watched her until he was convinced she was not going to hurl again and she stood on shaky legs. He helped her exit the bathroom, however he directed her to the left at the landing and through his own bedroom door.

 

“Why have you brought me in here?”

 

“The bed is bigger and I can keep an eye on you.” He pulled the covers back. “In,” he commanded softly. She complied, in too delicate a state to argue. Red’s room was darker than hers, which was a blessed relief; she hadn’t been hungover in years, and regretted the last two glasses she had. Red slid under the covers and lay on his side, facing her. She carefully moved her head to look at him. “Try and get some sleep; it’s the best cure for a hangover. You’re perfectly safe here,” he assured her. She believed his honest tone and the last thing she remembered as her eyes drooped shut was mumbling something about him not cooking her breakfast because it would be a waste of food and his answering chuckle.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Liz woke again at eight o’clock; she still felt fuzzy and drowsy, however her stomach was completely settled. She sat herself up slowly and drank the last of the water in the glass, now at room temperature, and decided she should have another glass to ensure she was hydrated. She carefully slid out from under the duvet and quietly opened the door, descending the stairs and refilling her glass as quickly as she could as the hardwood floor in the kitchen was cold on her bare feet. She hurried back up the stairs and debated which bed she should return to; still feeling headachey and knowing the darkness of his room, she made the decision to go back to Red’s bed. She closed the door softly, drained her glass, and crawled back under the thick duvet. She regarded the sleeping form of the man next to her; his face slackened in sleep, however a small frown creased his brow as he slept – he looked concerned and she briefly hoped she wasn’t the cause. Thankfully, he hadn’t fidgeted; Liz figured he was in a deep sleep. Tentatively she reached a hand out to touch his arm; he stirred and cracked one eye open, taking a few seconds to focus on her.

 

“Hmm?” he vocalised, still half asleep.

 

“Thank you,” is all she can think to say. He rolled on to his back and passed a hand over his face. “What time is it?” he asked, sleep slurring his speech.

 

“Still early,” she replied, “go back to sleep.”

 

“Mmhmm,” he responded softly, turning to face the edge of the bed, evidently falling straight back to sleep. Lizzie smiled at the lazy side of Red she was coming to know; she likened him in her mind to a cat that might charm an entire neighbourhood to feed it scraps and spend the rest of its time sleeping on a shed roof in the sun. She laid her head back down on her own pillow, facing his back, and soon drifted back off to sleep also.

 

 

 

* * *

 

She woke slowly, stretching out a little before she opened her eyes to find Red watching her, his head propped on the crook of his elbow.

 

“Morning,” she mumbled.

 

“It’s afternoon, now,” he informed her. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” she said after a beat. Her brain didn’t feel like it was rattling around in her skull, although she did still feel a little worse for wear.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said and closed his eyes.

 

“Red?” He opened his eyes again but said nothing. “Are we not getting up?”

 

“I didn’t realise we had plans, _dear_.”

 

“Your contact?”

 

“I left the address and phone number with the barman on our first day in town.”

 

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

 

“ _Oh_ , indeed. I’m feeling a lazy day, Lizzie; if you want to get up, don’t let me stop you, but you’re more than welcome to stay here.” He closed his eyes again and she said nothing. It took a few minutes for her to make up her mind and snuggle down into the thick duvet, at which point she registered the sound of rain on the balcony deck outside and decided that she had made the best decision.

 

 

 

* * *

 

She awoke again in an unsettlingly familiar position, spooned against Red’s back. He seemed to be asleep, but she couldn’t be sure. A peek at the clock over on his nightstand told her they had slept for another two hours and it was well into mid-afternoon. Her bladder dictated that she should get out of bed and attend to her basic needs; well, all but one of them. Carefully, she extracted herself from Red who was definitely still in a deep slumber, and headed for the bathroom.

 

Looking in the mirror she saw the state she was in; her hair was sticking out in all directions and her skin looked a little grey. She relieved her bladder and then brushed her teeth before running a brush through her hair. She would go back to bed, and this decision made her a little morose as she remembered her life back home, memories flitting through her mind of lazy days spent with breakfast in bed, although Tom could never just lie in bed all day so she would invariably end up sharing her breakfast with the dog, reading the newspaper and nibbling on toast.

 

When she padded back into the bedroom she found Red awake and looking at her expectantly; she paused momentarily in her stride before moving to join him again. He seemed to sense her mood change and as she clambered into the bed he held his arms open to her; she scooted herself to the middle of the bed and allowed him to envelop her, surrounding her with his warmth and solidity, his chin resting atop her head.

 

“It will get better,” he murmured, voice reverberating pleasantly from his chest through her cheek.

 

“I hope so,” she responded in a small voice. He hummed in response and shifted to get more comfortable, not relinquishing his hold on her. She felt safe with the bizarre man – both flamboyant and reserved – and she was beginning to ignore the voice that told her to push him away, keep him at arms-length, and think about Tom instead; she could trust Red with her life, this she knew, and that was a rare thing. She sighed into his chest and he tightened his grip, craning his head back to look down at her; she raised her eyes to meet his and answered his unasked question. “You’re right, things always get better eventually. You’re helping me.”

 

“Good,” he said, eyes scanning her face and apparently deciding she was being truthful. Still his eyes didn’t leave hers.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” he said with a smile before he pulled her with him as he rolled over on to his back so she was against his side, her head resting on his outstretched arm. He ran his free hand over his jaw and muttered something about needing a shave. Lizzie smiled at this previously unseen side of Red – this was _Raymond_ – without his usual mask, no hint of criminality underlying his words, no pressure; just a man. She rather liked it; perhaps if he was fifteen years younger-

 

She abruptly shut down that train of thought; she would _not_ entertain the idea of a relationship with him... although the devil on her shoulder was gradually pushing the angel out, reminding her that she was a woman with needs just as he was a man with the same needs. She rolled away from him, frowning; he shifted on to his side and his hand came to rest lightly in the curve of her waist.

 

“Are you alright, Lizzie?” She gave a minute nod. “You’re confused,” he stated simply, and she nodded again despite the fact he had not posed it as a question. “Do you want to have some breakfast?”

 

“It’s past lunchtime,” she said.

 

“It’s never too late for breakfast.”

 

“Or showers.”

 

“Exactly.” He swung his legs out of the bed and sat on the edge, shaking himself awake. “I’ll take a shower first and start on breakfast while you take your shower, if that sounds agreeable.”

 

“Perfect,” she agreed, pulling the warmth of the duvet he had vacated to her and cocooning herself in it further. He exited the room and she heard the shower hum to life; immediately she was assaulted by the image of him in the motel shower, water sluicing down his back. She felt like a horny teenager and told herself she needed to stop thinking about Red in such a way; she was the only one stopping a repeat of what happened between them at the motel and she didn’t need further complications in her life. The shower stopped and she heads him clear his throat and start running the taps, most likely to shave and brush his teeth. He soon returned wearing nothing but a towel around his waist; she determinedly kept her gaze fixed upon a spot on the wall opposite her when she heard the towel drop to the floor. Naked, she assumed, he opened a drawer and rummaged through it; she felt something land on the mattress near her feet and then heard him going through his wardrobe, followed by the rustling of fabric. It wasn’t until his bare feet and linen-clad legs stepped in front of her that she looked up at his clean shaven face; his eyes betrayed his amusement, he had known exactly what was going through her mind – and she narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“The bathroom is all yours,” he said as he turned to leave the room. “Feel free to use my robe again,” he called over his shoulder as he padded down the stairs. Lizzie rose and took his robe from the hook on the back of his door, a less-than-sensible plot forming in her mind.

 

She intentionally stayed in the shower for longer than usual, shaving her legs and underarms, and making use of the expensive body lotion afterward before sauntering to her room. She dressed in the black lace trimmed underwear she had in her bag and was disturbed by a knock at the door; quickly she slipped his robe back over her attire before opening the door. Whatever he was going to say died in his throat as he stared at her, flicking his eyes up and down her scantily clad form – unable to help it – his gaze lingering on the hint of black lace bra poking from the V created by his robe. He swallowed and returned his gaze to her face, sticking his jaw out. “Breakfast is ready,” he said dryly before turning on his heel and descending the stairs. Liz smiled to herself and proceeded to get dressed; yes, turnabout was fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot monkey sex in next chapter, I promise. If you've read this far I'd love to hear your feedback, so please comment.


	6. Chapter 6

Four days after the ‘Hangover Day’ – as Red had come to refer to it – they had travelled South to Robbinsville, just off the I-95, to meet with Cooper and Ressler for their weekly update. Both agents were eager for information on Red’s contact, but he refused to give any details on the man they were waiting for in Edison; Cooper made his scepticism of the situation known plainly to Red and Liz who had gone back to their usual banter, neither revealing that they had shared a bed or any sign that they had been checking each other out whenever the other’s back was turned. They admitted they hadn’t been in the town much, and Cooper suggested that they should get their faces know around town and make it common knowledge that David was an old friend of the contact; if all the locals were familiar with the contact, but in the dark about his activities as Red described to them in previously – he had taken to adding his own notes to some of Liz’s daily e-mails – then it could get word to the contact and he might appear sooner.

 

Ressler didn’t say much but his eyes were flicked from Liz to Red, as though he had noticed some small change in them. When they were leaving the meeting, Ressler pulled Liz to one side and reminded her she was there to do a job, not play house with one of the FBIs Most Wanted. She had shaken him off and given him a withering look before leaving. They would have to be more careful around Ressler; he resented that she had a connection with Reddington when it was he who had been working the case for years to track the ‘Concierge of Crime’ down. Donald was convinced that if he were a woman he might have found Red long ago; the man evidently had a soft spot for Agent Keen and he didn’t like it one bit. He’d keep his mouth shut about his suspicions for now, but as soon as he had proof of anything going on between them he’d take it straight to Cooper.

 

Once they were back on the I-95 to Edison, Liz had told Red about her encounter with Ressler and he admitted he had noticed the younger man’s scrutiny also.

 

“He’s just jealous you’re here instead of him,” he explained levelly.

 

“You were his case for years.”

 

“Nevertheless, I’m glad he isn’t here.”

 

“I don’t think he’s the cuddling type,” she mused and they shared an amused laugh. “Shall we go back to the bar tonight?” she suggested.

 

“Sure,” Red agreed brightly, “I think a night out is just what we need.”

 

* * *

 

They entered Sullivan’s Bar at just past seven o’clock; Red showed Liz to a seat, his left hand at the small of her back now sporting a wedding ring to match her own, before fetching their drinks at the bar; he returned and sat facing the door, as any self-respecting criminal ought to. He sipped at his red wine, watching Lizzie’s face as she tasted her white wine to find it was a spritzer; she narrowed her eyes at him and he smiled sweetly at her.

 

“No repeats of the other morning, please.” His smile faltered momentarily, eyes flicking to the door, and Liz shot him a questioning look. “He’s here,” he murmured. Lizzie watched as a rail thin man, dressed in a silver sheen skinny suit, passed by their table and spoke to the barman who proceeded to gesture in their direction. The man turned to look at them, and she smiled in what she hoped was a welcoming fashion. Red rose from his seat and moved to greet his contact, extending his hand to him.

 

“Carl!” he exclaimed. “David; it’s good to see you again. Can I buy you a drink?” Carl shook his head and muttered something to Red, dark eyes fixed on Liz. “This,” Red said with a flamboyant gesture in her direction, “is my wife, Claire. God, it’s been too long!” He clapped Carl on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come back to the house and we can have a real catch up?” Carl nodded his agreement, but still seemed suspicious of Liz.

 

“How long did you say you’d been married, David?” Carl asked Red in a high, slightly strained sounding voice.

 

“I didn’t,” Red said light-heartedly. “How long has it been, Claire?”

 

“Two years, seven months,” she laughed, “I can’t believe you don’t remember! You’d better not forget our anniversary!”

 

“I’m glad one of us keeps track,” Red quipped. Liz smiled warmly and followed the men outside, abandoning their drinks.

 

They walked back to the house, Liz remaining silent as Red and Carl chatted about not a whole lot. Once they got back to their house, Red showed Carl into the sitting room and requested that Liz bring the ‘good port’ in with two glasses, making it clear that she was not to be part of the conversation. On her way back to the sitting room with a tray she heard Red explaining to Carl that he was married to her but that she had no idea of his true identity; Carl agreed to play along with the charade. When she brought the drinks in she excused herself for the night, claiming she had a long day. Carl, who had visibly relaxed, bade her goodnight; Red excused himself to escort her upstairs.

 

“You’ll stay in my room tonight,” he informed her in a low voice when they reached the landing. “Carl will most likely stop for a day or two, and we must maintain the charade.”

 

“All my clothes are in that room,” she stated, “is that not a little suspect?”

 

“Run the shower to cover the sound of you moving everything into my room,” he offered by way of a solution.

 

“Okay,” she nodded, turning to enter the bathroom.

 

“Lizzie?” She turned to face him. “Carl isn’t a physical threat to us, but if he doesn’t believe us to be married and that you know nothing of Raymond Reddington it will be a catastrophe for my business and will hugely impact our chances of clearing the Blacklist.” She nodded her understanding.

 

“David?” Carl called from the bottom of the stairs. Lizzie stood in the bathroom door and accepted Red’s ‘goodnight kiss’.

 

“Don’t wait up,” he said to her before returning downstairs to play host to their long awaited guest. Liz did as Red suggested and turned the shower on before moving all of her clothes from her room and putting them on the bed in Red’s room. It didn’t take long, so she prepared herself for bed before shutting the shower off, stopping to brush her teeth before shutting herself in the bedroom and finding space in Red’s wardrobe for her things.

 

* * *

 

Liz woke to the sound of two men speaking outside the bedroom door; Red was providing Carl with clean towels for the morning and bidding him a good night, thanking him for his company. Liz closed her eyes as the bedroom door opened, only opening them when it had been shut again. Her eyes already accustomed to the moonlit room, she watched Red methodically undress and prepare for bed – slipping into a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms. She decided to test the water.

 

“David?” she said in a voice she hoped sounded like she’d just woken.

 

“I’m here,” he responded softly, moving around to his side of the bed and sliding in beside her.

 

“How’d it go?”

 

“We had a good catch up,” he said while pointing at the wall that separated the two bedrooms to signal they were probably being listened to. “It was long overdue.”

 

“That’s good,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here now though,” she said in a lower voice, thinking they might as well give their guest something to listen to.

 

“Are you now?” he questioned, clearly amused.

 

“I missed you,” she continued the charade in a sweet voice, a smile ghosting across her lips. He mirrored her smile with his own before she registered a change in the atmosphere between them – a charged tension had begun to build. He continued to watch her face as she, in turn, watched his; as he had in the motel, he lowered his mouth to hers, though he waited for her to close the gap between them. She hesitated for a moment before snaking her arm around his neck and drawing him down to her, their mouths meeting in a long, slow kiss. She hummed appreciatively as he deepened his kiss, accepting that – guest or not – they both needed this. She rolled to her side, bringing him to lie with his body flush against hers, his growing arousal evident between them and serving to increase her own. His hand moved from her hip to cup a breast through the fabric of her pyjamas and she lightly raked her nails through his chest hair and over his nipples, causing him to release a hiss of pleasure at the sensation. Emboldened, she ran a hand down between their bodies to cup his cock through his silk pyjamas, fingertips curling to brush against his balls.

 

“Jesus, Claire,” he sighed so effortlessly, reminding her to keep up the charade; she had almost forgotten about their potential earwig next door.

 

“I need you, _David_ ,” she half-moaned in his ear, causing him to chuckle and roll her on to her back, helping her out of her pyjamas but not allowing her to undress him. Eyes never leaving hers, he slid down her body until his mouth was level with her sex; she felt his fingers spread her open and held her breath in anticipation as she watched his tongue snake out from between sensuous lips to taste her for the first time. After a couple of small lapping movements he got down to business, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue through her slit, occasionally darting it inside her, and focusing around her clit but never directly swiping over it. She was soon writhing and panting with need, her orgasm coiling tighter and tighter within her, but he wouldn’t relent. “Please,” she half-sobbed, no longer caring for being quiet. At her begging he pushed two fingers inside her and latched his mouth over her clit, sucking hard, wincing as she gripped his head and dug her fingernails into his scalp, moaning her release.

 

As she calmed he quickly shed his pyjama bottoms, knelt between her still spread legs and entered her tight, pulsing channel excruciatingly slowly; they moaned at the sensation of being joined again, and he lowered himself over her – taking most of his weight on his forearms – meeting her lips for a searing kiss as he began to move within her. They soon found their rhythm and nothing but the sound of flesh meeting flesh and their heavy breathing filled the room. A bead of sweat dripped from Red’s nose on to her cheek and he immediately bent his head to lick the salty droplet from her skin before seeking her mouth once more; she stilled him with her hand on his hip and motioned for him to roll over. He pulled out of her and laid on his back in the centre of the bed, guiding her as she straddled his waist and lowered herself on to him slowly, causing him to grit his teeth and growl; she set a fast pace, and he was soon writhing beneath her, enjoying giving up control to the vital woman above him pumping herself up and down on his cock without mercy. He sat up straight and angled her to lean back, planting her feet flat on the bed behind him. Frantically, they bucked against each other until, with a firm flick of his thumb over her clit, she came again and he followed, moaning into her neck as he finished within her. They clung to each other’s sweat-soaked bodies, gasping for air in the centre of his bed. Without a word she laid him down and drew the duvet up over them, snuggling into him. They soon dozed into a deep sleep, the last conscious thought Liz had was that if Carl wasn’t listening in the first place he didn’t really have much of a choice after their performance.


	7. Chapter 7

Liz awoke to find the other side of the bed empty, the sheets cool beneath her seeking fingertips. She figured that Red had likely risen early to continue his conversation with Carl downstairs, however when she reached the top of the stairs she heard no activity coming from the ground floor at all. Unnerved at the silence of the house, she shrugged into Red’s robe – more hers than his now – and padded quietly down the stairs. The FBI agent in her surfaced as she methodically moved through the house, checking all of the rooms for any negative signs, not that he wasn’t adept at defending himself if the need arose; however as she came to the kitchen she found a note posted on the refrigerator door, which immediately put her at ease:

 

_‘Claire,_

_Carl leaving town today – taking him for breakfast. Will be home by midday._

_David’_

 

She noticed a second page stuck underneath the first:

 

_‘P.S. He didn’t sleep a wink. Good show! R’_

 

Liz smirked at the second scribbled note and disposed of it – just in case – before returning upstairs to shower and dress for the day. As she sat at the vanity table brushing her hair she considered that, if Red had gotten the information he needed from Carl, she would be going home to Tom and the FBI and Red would be back to his plush hotel rooms surrounded by many beautiful things that weren’t his own. Idly she wondered to herself if he’d keep the rent up on the place since he’d already moved so many things in; then she realised that attempting to predict Red was a pointless endeavour, as he had seemed to make some choices based entirely on his prediction of other people’s reactions.

 

Dressed in black slacks and a wide-necked t-shirt, Liz dropped into the chair in front of her laptop in the sitting room and switched the machine on. She sullenly composed a message to Cooper regarding the developments with Carl, however she found herself hesitating with the cursor on the ‘Send’ button; did she want to go back? Her time with Red had been so far removed from her reality and she had come to treasure the conversations they’d had, the laughs they’d shared, and the conspiratorial looks they would shoot each other when out together; their physical relationship aside, she had developed what she would call a friendship with Red, and the true weight of what their return to real life meant for that was the cause of the hitch in her breath when she clicked the button and the message was sent. She fought with herself as her eyesight became blurred from tears of frustration; her life had become so complicated since Red has come into it, however she found herself blaming him less and less as the days wore on. Rubbing at her eyes, she made for the kitchen to get herself a strong coffee; once this was made she headed back upstairs, through her bedroom and out on to the balcony. A small bistro set of chairs flanked a table and she sat with her hands wrapped around the mug, watching the wisps of steam disappear as they rose from the hot black liquid. Eventually she looked up from the coffee and enjoyed the view from the balcony, thankful the house was on the edge of the small township.

 

She was soon accosted by anxiety at her impending return to her house, to Tom, and that she wouldn’t be able to hide the fact her relationship had changed from him or from Ressler who was already looking for cracks in her story; she couldn’t really remember exactly what her relationship with Red had been like prior to their departure for Edison. She’d never wear his red robe again; she didn’t even have one of her own to replace it with. She would feel more alone in the house she had bought with her husband than she did in the little home she had with Red; she wondered if he would feel the same way, leaving the house behind.

 

She would need to send another message to Cooper once Carl had departed... perhaps she would put it off until the morning.

 

* * *

 

Red arrived back at the house just after midday, checking the rooms to find no trace of Liz; as he moved upstairs he saw the bathroom door open and her bedroom door closed. He listened at the closed door and on hearing no sound of movement, carefully turned the handle and opened the door; he was surprised to find she wasn’t in her room, and momentarily worried as she hadn’t left a note to say she wouldn’t be home, however he caught a glimpse of movement through her door to the balcony and relaxed instantly. He moved through her room and opened the door, startling her from her reverie; she looked burdened by her thoughts, but he decided to say nothing and simply sat himself elegantly in the second chair. They sat like that, both staring at the landscape behind the house – sparse from the winter – and it was Liz who eventually broke the silence stretching between them.

 

“How was breakfast?” she queried.

 

“I believe I have enough information for Harold to agree to bring out the big guns.”

 

“So, this Number Nine, you haven’t even briefed the Bureau on who he is yet.”

 

“That’s because _I’m_ not sure who he is yet.”

 

“What?” she asked incredulously. “What do you mean you don’t know who he is?”

 

“Well, he could be one of three. I’ve narrowed it down from around twenty names, so we’re getting there.”

 

“Three?”

 

“All three have worked together previously, so it may even be the case of it being all three of them rather than just one.”

 

“So what did Carl have to say?”

 

“He helped me bring the number down from eight to the three we’re now left with, along with a little information on each of them.”

 

“So we could be dealing with a cell?”

 

Red shrugged. “It’s a theory.” They lapsed into silence once more, Red practically able to hear the cogs turning in Liz’s head as she processed what little information he had imparted. “Come,” he beckoned as he stood from his seat, “it’s getting chilly. Let’s head into the kitchen.”

 

“Why?” she asked, stepping back into her bedroom as he held the door for her.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I have a craving for hot chocolate.” He locked the door, turned, and headed for the stairs; Liz snorted at his words and he stopped, turned back to face her, and cocked his head to the side in silent query.

 

“I was expecting you to say we could brainstorm the two theories you have – of a single perpetrator or a cell – and that you would tell me more about the suspects,” she supplied.

 

“Soon,” was all he said as he led her down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Liz sat slumped at one end of the sofa in the sitting room, feet resting on a footstool, laptop perched on her knees as she drafted up another update for Cooper. Red sat, engrossed in a book, at the other end of the sofa .

 

“Don’t mention the cell,” he ordered softly. “We’ll keep that between the two of us for now. I don’t want the FBI leaping into action at the insinuation that we’re looking at a cell; and don’t look at me like that, you know Harold would be chomping at the bit with that information.” Liz held her finger on the backspace key and removed the sentence about the cell that she had just typed. Red marked his place in the book he was reading and scooted along the sofa to peer at the screen, critical eyes scanning the message she had composed. “That’ll be fine,” he confirmed and she hit the ‘Send’ button before shutting the machine down. “You’re not going to wait for a response?”

 

“I’ll check in the morning,” she confirmed, stifling a yawn. “I think I need to go to bed.”

 

“We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow; you should go and get some sleep,” he recommended. “I’ll stay down here until the fire has burned down.” She nodded, stifling another yawn, and rose from the sofa; she moved over to the door, but stopped in the frame, turning back to face him.

 

“Red?”

 

He looked up from his book. “Yes, Lizzie?”

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

“We are going to go back to our roles of _FBI Agent_ and _Most Wanted_ ,” he responded, “and our performances will need to be Oscar-worthy to avoid sustained scrutiny from Ressler and Cooper.”

 

“Sustained?”

 

“They’re already suspicious, Lizzie,” he pointed out dryly; “you need to expect questions to be asked on our return.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Lizzie?” She sighed and came back to the doorway. “Are you alright?”

 

“I don’t think I am,” she replied softly. “Goodnight, Red,” she bade him before ascending the stairs and going into her own bedroom; she would stay in there for their last night. It wouldn’t do for her to share his bed again, not when they would never be able to do so again under the watchful gaze of her employer, and not while she had her husband to deal with. The decisions she knew she would eventually have to make weighed heavy on her mind, and once she had her pyjamas on she threw herself on to the bed and wrapped herself in the duvet – hiding from the world for the last time.

 

* * *

 

Liz was vaguely aware of the other side of the mattress dipping under the weight of another, and of being wrapped in warmth and a light musk; she half-woke at the movement behind her and at the feeling of the duvet being rearranged, but at the soft shushing sound he uttered was reassured of her bedmate’s identity and soon fell headlong into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have left comments & kudos thus far; your feedback is much appreciated and I am glad to hear you're enjoying reading this fic. Please continue to leave your feedback and/or suggestions :)


	8. Chapter 8

“After everything, you do _this_ to me?” Tom’s stricken expression said it all; Liz tried to open her mouth to explain, to reach out to him, but found herself totally paralysed.

 

“She’s a traitor; sleeping with the enemy,” Ressler sneered, although Liz couldn’t see him.

 

“He’s a master criminal, for Christ’s sake,” Tom raged on, as though he hadn’t heard Ressler. “He’s on the FBI Most Wanted list; he’s probably just using you to get information.”

 

“Just you wait,” Ressler’s voice surrounded her, “I’ll have you kicked out of the Bureau and Reddington behind bars in a heartbeat.”

 

“Do you really think this is good for _us_? For our _family_? We’ve been trying so long, Lizzie.” She stopped struggling; Tom never called her that.

 

Liz awoke with a jerk in the dark room to find herself tangled in the covers, the edge of which Red’s sleeping form had a death-grip on. Groggy, she freed herself from the duvet and gently placed it over Red before rising and quietly exiting her bedroom to go downstairs. She flipped the light on in the kitchen and appreciated the chill in the room as well as the freezing floor tiles as she stood waiting for the kettle to boil. She busied herself making a chamomile tea and sat at the kitchen table; Tom & Ressler’s voices from her dream echoed in her mind, tormenting her already frayed conscience. She heard the bed directly above her creak but no further signs of movement were apparent, so she assumed Red had just shifted in his sleep; she was thankful that she had not woken him as she was unsure she would be able to address any of it with him –he would _want_ to know. She drank her tea but found it did nothing to lessen the tension headache she was giving herself so she rummaged in one of the cupboards and found some painkillers, taking two tablets with the remainder of her tea before returning to the upstairs landing. She looked at her own bedroom door and decided against joining Red in her bed; instead she entered his bedroom, grabbing his robe and wrapping herself in it for the last time before she burrowed under the covers of his bed. She inhaled his scent from the pillows, felt wrapped up in him, safe in their hideaway. A wave of emotion crested within her and silent tears tracked from her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her head. She heard a snore and unintelligible mumbling through the wall and her lips quirked in a small sad smile at the how completely normal Red was to her now; his domesticity was no longer alien and strange to witness, but a part of the every day. As she mourned that she would no longer be treated to his cooking, she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Liz woke under a mountain of duvet, hugging two pillows to herself. She fought her way out from under the covers and kicked them to the end of the bed, tossing the pillows back to the headboard. She rose and straightened the crinkled robe she still wore, exiting Red’s bedroom to find her own bedroom door open and the room vacant. The sound of the radio in the kitchen confirmed that he was still in the house, so she retrieved clean clothes from the wardrobe in his room and wandered into the bathroom for a shower; she needed to relax and drown out the echoes of her nightmares which she still felt a little shaken by. She didn’t spare a look in the mirror – she knew she would be a mess – before stripping out of the robe and her pyjamas and stepping into the shower, turning the spray on and welcoming the pulse of the water on her shoulders as the room soon filled with steam. She turned to the alcove to pour shampoo in her hand and, on turning back, gave a shriek of surprise and mild panic when she found Red standing inches away from her, eyes studying her face.

 

“You didn’t come back to bed,” he stated plainly.

 

“I had a nightmare,” she replied, tensing her jaw.

 

“About me?” he questioned, looking a little uncertain of himself, which was most uncharacteristic.

 

“Sort of.”

 

He said nothing in response but took her hand and scooped the shampoo from it into his own before gesturing with his other hand that she should turn around. Liz eyed him with suspicion but turned around all the same, feeling his fingertips on her scalp as he began to work the shampoo into her hair; she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling, thinking she could sleep standing in the shower if he continued much longer. All too soon, he withdrew and his hands gripped her shoulders gently, applying pressure to turn her around; she leaned back into the spray and he helped her to rinse the suds from her hair, the wedding ring he had bought for their charade still gleaming on his ring finger; she sighed, capturing his left hand in her right and toyed with the platinum band.

 

“It’ll be off when we leave,” he said, as though he felt her sigh meant she wanted him to remove it. She said nothing and did not meet his eyes when she nodded, knowing it would be foolish to do anything other; she felt a numbness overcome her as she dropped his hand from hers and stood under the spray, unmoving. She barely noticed Red reach around to the alcove for the body wash, didn’t hear the squeak of the nozzle as he squirted it on to the sponge, and blankly watched him as he began to wash her with the utmost care and concentration from her feet upwards. She inhaled the smell of the Madagascan vanilla in the body wash and slowly started coming back to herself, mentally remonstrating herself for wanting to stay in denial of reality, and turned around at Red’s soft instruction so he could wash her back. The sponge moved across her shoulders and down her spine, making circles in the small of her back before his hands moved up her sides and she caught them in her own, drawing them around her midsection and bringing him flush against her back, the sponge dropped to the floor of the shower. They stood like that, silent under the shower spray, for several minutes; Liz listened to Red’s breathing and leaned her head back into his shoulder, fingers toying with the ring again. “You can keep it after today,” he murmured, dropping his head to press his lips to the place where her neck met her shoulder.

 

“I shouldn’t,” she replied quietly.

 

“But do you want to?”

 

“I don’t want to go back,” she confessed, turning her head to face his.

 

“That makes two of us.” He moved closer and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he reached past her and shut the shower off. “Come,” he said, moving away from her but still holding one of her hands, “let’s get dressed and eat something; I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, and I am ravenous.”

 

* * *

 

The sedan pulled away from the empty house, their things packed in the trunk; Red sat in the passenger seat, toying with the cuffs she would have to put back on him as they neared the Post Office. Their journey was spent in silence until he flipped the radio on and tuned in to a classical station, watching the landscape change with mild interest as they headed South on the I-95. True to his word, he had removed the ring before they left and had assured her that it would not be found on him when he got back to the Post Office.

 

“So what’re you going to do about the suspects you have?” she asked eventually, wanting to talk about work-related subjects in order to stop herself thinking of what they’d left behind.

 

“I’ll pass you a file tomorrow with the details I currently have on all three. You can add any extra detail you might be able to dig up on them, and then we can get together and brainstorm in my hotel.”

 

“Speaking of, which hotel will you be staying in?” Liz asked, curious.

 

She shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.” They lapsed into silence once more, Liz determinedly keeping her eyes on the road, until Red spoke. “What are your thoughts on the situation with Tom?”

 

“I need to speak to him.”

 

“And how do you think that will go?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I want you to contact me before you talk to him and afterward,” he said; it wasn't a request.

 

“Why?”

 

“I’d like to know you are safe.”

 

She scoffed. “You don’t think-“

 

“You don’t know, Lizzie, you’ve said it yourself.” His voice had an edge. “You’re not sure who he is, so you have no idea of his reaction.”

 

“Fine,” she relented, pulling the car into a gas station.

 

“Good. I’ll have Dembé give you the number on my return.” He sat back in his seat. “I suppose it’s time to put on my jewellery?” She smiled at his jovial tone – he did find the cuffs something of a joke – and nodded. He closed one of the cuffs around his left wrist before holding his other wrist out for her to cuff and once it had been clicked shut she checked they were tight enough to hold him but not so tight they would mark him; satisfied, she sent a message to Cooper from her cell, started the car again and pulled back on to the I-95 for the last hour of their journey.

* * *

 

Liz and Red were met by an escort in the subterranean car park; four agents flanked him while Ressler had come to meet her. Determinedly she didn’t look at Red as he was taken back to the secure holdings. Ressler escorted her to the Ops room where Cooper awaited them.

 

“Agent Keen,” he greeted her. “Thank you Agent Ressler, that will be all for now.” Ressler was dismissed and left the room without a word. “How was your journey?” Cooper enquired.

 

“It was smooth. No RTAs so we made good time.”

 

“And Reddington?”

 

“He was no trouble, Sir.”

 

Cooper nodded pensively. “I’ll want a report covering your actions and activity over the past two weeks on my desk by Friday,” he informed her.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Alright then.” He nodded again. “That will be all, Agent Keen.”

 

“Sir? Shouldn’t we head down to see Red?”

 

“I’ll speak to him myself; you are dismissed for the day, Agent. Take a car, go home and see your husband.”

 

“Of course. Thank you, Sir.” Cooper left the room and Ressler came to escort her back down to the car park, still saying nothing. She found the lack of proper debrief odd, and Ressler's behaviour odder still.

 

* * *

 

Liz sat in the sedan, parked outside her house; she could see through the blinds that the TV was on, so Tom was home. Telling herself that she didn’t have to have the conversation with him right away she took a deep breath to calm herself before getting out of the car, removing her bags from the trunk, and heading to the front door; she let herself in quietly and put her bag down, peeking round the doorway to the living room to find Tom sprawled on the sofa, asleep. She moved to the kitchen then, leaning against the counter as she gathered her thoughts and calmed herself further; this was her home, she told herself, and Tom had no idea she had found the box so he had no reason to suspect she was hiding anything. Nodding to herself she decided a hot chocolate was in order and, out of a habit borne from the past two weeks, she made two; with a sadness creeping into her thoughts, she picked up both mugs and approached the living room again to wake Tom and plunge herself headfirst back into reality.


	9. Chapter 9

She kept reminding herself she was home, whatever that constituted. It had been two days since she had returned to the terraced house and to Tom, who had been acting like nothing was out of the ordinary since she’d returned; although he was noticeably unimpressed that, as she sat at the kitchen table writing her report, she kept checking her phone – for any word from her employers she told him, though she knew that was not the whole truth – a deep frown marred his features as he watched her work from his seat in the living room.

 

“They’ve told you to take some time,” he exclaimed when he entered the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, “so take it! Stop acting like you’re missing out.”

 

“They just told me to go home, not to take some time. We’re in the middle of something right now... I need to be there,” she reasoned.

 

“They will call you back in if they have any developments, I’m sure,” he responded softly. “Besides, we haven’t spent the day together in weeks. I know I’ve been a little distant;” he came to the table and took her hands in his, “it’s hard having to fit myself around your job.”

 

“I know,” Liz responded, giving his hands a squeeze, “I didn’t think in a million years that this is what I’d be doing straight off the bat.” His hands didn’t engulf hers the way Red’s did. “I,” she faltered at the realisation, “I know it’s been stressful.”

 

“Why don’t we go out today?” he suggested.

 

“And do what?” she questioned. “I’ve a report to write.”

 

“You’ve got until Friday!”

 

“It’s important.”

 

“No, it’s Tuesday.”

 

“Fine,” she relented with a sigh – he was right after all. “Where do you want to go?”

 

* * *

 

She lay next to her snoring husband wide awake, mind racing. He had insisted they make love after their day together and she had gone along with it, knowing it wouldn’t feel the same as it used to. The nightmare she had on her last night in Edison resurfaced and she had reminded herself she needed to act as normally as possible, lest Tom become suspicious; if she hadn’t known about the box, or been with Red, she would never have thought of saying no to a night with her husband. After the act she had found herself comparing the experience with the man she had been trying, and failing, not to think about – Raymond Reddington. She realised that what Tom gave her was not the fireworks she had experienced with Red; whether it was because what she had done with Red was forbidden and dangerous, she didn’t know... she just felt empty.

 

Turning to her side she reached out to the bedside cabinet and checked her phone – still nothing. It had been two days since she returned with Red and she had expected to hear something by now; even Dembe hadn’t sent her the number Red had promised. With a pang of worry she considered that Red might still be at the black site and that AD Cooper and Ressler did not want her there while they interrogated him; or maybe they had found out the details of what happened in Edison and they were compiling a report against her? “Sleeping with the enemy,” Ressler’s words from her nightmare echoed around her skull; “I’ll have you kicked out of the Bureau and Reddington behind bars...”

 

She scrubbed her hands over her face in agitation. Tom shifted in his sleep. With a sigh she got out of bed, pulled her comfiest sweater over her head, and padded downstairs to make herself a cup of chamomile tea. She picked up her notepad and curled up in the armchair in the living room, switching on the shopping channel for company while she reviewed her notes. She soon dozed off where she sat, notes open on her lap.

 

* * *

 

“Liz?”

 

“Wha-“

 

“Phone.” She opened her eyes to find a blurry Tom waving her ringing phone in front of her face. She sat up straight away, grabbed the phone and answered the call.

 

“Liz Keen,” she greeted gruffly. “Oh, hi, Sir... yes, I can be there in an hour.” She hung up to find Tom staring at her. “I guess that development happened,” she said with a shrug. Tom threw his hands up but said nothing before disappearing into the kitchen and noisily making his breakfast. She hurried upstairs to wash and dress, deciding to forego her breakfast and grab a coffee on the way into work.

 

* * *

 

Liz arrived at the Bureau’s black site, the Post Office, coffee in hand. She took the elevator from the parking lot and headed to meet AD Cooper; as usual, Ressler was with him. She greeted them both with a smile and took the seat Cooper gestured to.

 

“Reddington says he wants to talk to you,” Cooper began; “we’ve had no luck getting any information out of him.”

 

“He’s told you nothing?” she questioned, only half-relieved as he was slowing their investigation by not revealing his theories as to who Number Nine could be. “How long has he been here?”

 

“Since you brought him back in,” Ressler answered from the doorway.

 

“Why hasn’t he been back to his hotel?”

 

“He hasn’t got one,” Cooper said. “Supposedly his bodyguard is fixing him an apartment.”

 

That explained why she hadn’t heard from Dembe; he probably didn’t know they’d returned from Edison.

 

“Okay, as soon as that’s done he needs to be moved there.” Harold looked at her as though he was about to reprimand her for acting above her station so she elaborated. “It’s my professional opinion that he’s more likely to talk when he’s in his own space.” Cooper and Ressler exchanged a look. “I lived with him for two weeks, so with all due respect I think I’ve learned a lot more about the man than you’re giving me credit for.” Cooper nodded at this before gesturing that they should head down to see the man himself. She found herself battling with anxiety as she walked with Ressler and Cooper; she hadn’t seen Red since they had returned. As they arrived, the cell around him retracted, leaving him cuffed to his chair on the raised dais; she took her usual seat in front of him as Cooper and Ressler made their way into the viewing booth.

 

“You asked to see me?” she said.

 

“I’ve told them before that I’d only speak with you, Lizzie.”

 

“What do you want to talk about?” she questioned with an air of exasperation.

 

“I want to be in my own apartment before I divulge any information to your team, Lizzie. If Harold and Donald have any sense they will release me into your... capable hands, and you will escort me.”

 

“Where to?” she asked, ignoring her phone vibrating in her bag.

 

“Dembe has just sent you the address,” he responded coolly. She immediately took her phone out of her bag to find he was correct.

 

“How did you-“

 

“That will be all for now.” He fell silent and stared through her to the viewing booth. Liz checked the address on her phone before she looked at Red again; she could tell he was playing the game again, back in character; his face was impassive but his eyes were positively dancing with dark humour. She rose from her seat and made her way into the booth to speak with Cooper.

 

* * *

 

So it was that she found herself in the back of Red’s Mercedes, sitting next to him as Dembe drove them through town to the apartment.

 

“You do realise that this place will need to be fitted with surveillance equipment?”

 

“I am familiar with the Bureau’s ham-fisted methods, Lizzie.”

 

“Just a friendly reminder,” she retorted. He snorted, but remained silent. Dembe maintained his usual stony silence, though she noticed his thumb twitched slightly on the steering wheel in time to the bluesy number on the radio.

 

“Oh, turn it _up_ , Dembe!” Red exclaimed suddenly. Dembe complied and Red turned to give Lizzie a grin, nodding and tapping his foot along to the beat; he seemed entirely too cheerful for her liking – it put her on edge. Dembe’s hand now tapped the wheel as the purring of the engine was drowned out by the bass vibrating through the entire car as they drove down the quieter streets in an affluent part of town, wailing vocals escaping into the street through Red's half-open window.

 

_I am a back door man._  
 _I am a back door man._  
 _Well the men don't know,_  
 _But the little girls understand._  
 _When everybody's sound asleep,_  
 _I'm somewhere making my midnight creep._  
 _Yes in the morning, when the rooster crow,_  
 _Something tell me, I got to go.  
_ _I am a back door man._

 

Before long Dembe pulled the car into a space in front of an apartment block; a red-brick affair with bay windows surrounded by a manicured lawn with box hedge borders, the place was understated but the wealth of the tenants was clear from the various _objets d’art_ that were visible through the windows of the ground floor apartments. Dembe followed Red  & Lizzie as they entered the building and got into the waiting elevator, Red punching the number for the top floor. They exited the elevator and Red led them to the single set of double doors; Liz realised then that the top floor was one huge apartment – he had the damn penthouse suite. Upon entering the suite she noticed that the style of much of the furniture was the same as the pieces in the house in Edison; she mentioned this to him.

 

“Very observant. Yes, most of the furniture here is mine.” He gave her a wry smile. “I told you so.”

 

“Told me what?” she asked defensively.

 

“You know me better than you realise.”

 

“I know your furniture tastes,” she retorted.

 

Red shrugged. “It’s a start.” He turned to Dembe. “That will be all, Dembe, thank you.” The tall dark bodyguard left the apartment quietly, leaving Red & Liz alone. He turned the entirety of his attention on her for the first time since they returned from Edison and she found herself unnerved by the sheer intensity of his gaze. “So?” he prompted.

 

“ _So_ , what?” she asked.

 

“We’re back at square one, I see.”

 

“We’re back to being _Most Wanted_ and _FBI Agent_.”

 

He nodded. “Of course we are.”

 

“Why did you bring me here?” she questioned.

 

“You’re such a fighter, Lizzie,” he said, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

 

“It’s got me where I am,” she responded quickly.

 

“And where is that, exactly?” He raised his eyebrows as he awaited her answer.

 

“I... I-“

 

He tutted quietly. “How is Tom?” he asked casually, moving to the drinks cabinet and proceeding to pull out two tumblers.

 

“Fine,” she answered in a clipped tone.

 

“So, no... developments yet?”

 

“If you’re asking whether I’ve confronted him yet, the answer is evidently no.”

 

“Evidently?” He turned back to her and extended a tumbler filled with amber liquid to her.

 

“You said to let you know before and after the conversation. I’ve been waiting for the damn number.” She rolled the tumbler between her hands.

 

“And if you had the number?”

 

“What?”

 

“Would you have done it?” he questioned, curiosity evident in his voice.

 

“I would’ve been working myself up to it,” she admitted.

 

“And have me worry myself sick? When I give you the number I expect you to use it as soon as possible,” he informed her flatly.

 

“Give me the number then.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

She heaved a sigh. “Then why-“

 

“You’re not ready yet,” he said enigmatically.

 

Liz shook her head in disbelief. “You’re infuriating.”

 

“Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.” He gave her a quick smile before taking a sip of his drink.

 

“Why break the habit of a lifetime?” she shot back, eliciting a bark of laughter.

 

“Indeed,” he agreed, swirling his drink around in the tumbler.

 

She sipped at her own drink. “What _is_ this?”

 

“An _Old Fashioned_ ; one of the very first cocktails,” he informed her, taking another long sip; “most bracing.” He gestured to the small sofa. “Please, sit.”

 

She shook her head. “I’ll stand, thanks.”

 

“There you go again,” he teased. “Ever the fighter.”

 

“Jesus, Red,” she began exasperatedly, “if you wanted a friendly chat you could’ve done this at the Post Office.”

 

“But then I couldn’t give you the file on the three suspects.” He reached into the bag that Dembe had taken from the trunk of the car when they had arrived and pulled out a manila envelope. “Keep this to yourself for a couple of days. I’ll have a duplicate made for Harold once you’ve been through the file yourself.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I’d like your view first.” She snorted in response. “You can either stay here and go through the file or we can meet tomorrow.”

 

“I’d like to leave,” she said stonily.

 

“Alright then. Dembe will be waiting downstairs; he will drive you back to the Post Office,” Red said. Liz was already halfway to the door, cocktail left half-finished on the console table. He stood in the centre of the room and heaved a deep sigh after the doors slammed behind her.

 

* * *

 

Liz returned home, still wound up from her conversation with Red; she had her guard up the entire time as she couldn’t afford to drop the act lest she beg him to hide her away in Edison or Paris or _fucking_ Warsaw – anywhere to get away from the pressure of her real life. Wearily, she climbed the steps to her front door and let herself in. The house was quiet.

 

“Tom?” she called, moving through the house to put her bag down on the table in the dining room. Finding that he wasn’t downstairs she moved upstairs and found him in their room, sitting on his side of the bed with his back to her, shoulders hunched over. Her eyes alighted on her travel bag, still not unpacked from her trip; it was open on the bed beside her husband. He began to talk, voice low; he was angry.

 

“I was looking for the tweezers – I had that one long eyebrow thing going on,” he laughed, but it was a hollow sound, “and they weren’t in the bathroom, so I figured you took them on your trip.” He paused; she swallowed hard, finding her throat dry, and stepped towards him but stopped when he stood abruptly, rubbing the back of his head roughly. “Imagine what I find when I look in your bag?”

 

“What did you find?” she asked quietly, a heaviness settling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, he whirled around and stepped right up to her.

 

“This.” He opened his palm in front of her face to reveal a gleaming platinum wedding band. “What _is_ this, Liz? What were you doing for a week and a half?” he shouted.

 

“I-“

 

“What sort of game are you playing?” he questioned, eyes searching her face.

 

“Game?” she responded hotly. “How dare you! I-“

 

“And all the clothes,” he continued.

 

“I was there longer than expec-“

 

“Why would you need a god damn little black dress? With shoes and bag to match?”

 

“It was undercover, we-“

 

“We? Who was it, Liz? That blond fucker? What’s his name? Duncan?”

 

“Ressler wasn’t there.”

 

“Some other work guy? Someone you’ve never mentioned? Office romance, is it? I thought you wanted this, Liz,” he continued his tirade, gesturing to the room; “I thought we were okay.”

 

“We haven’t been okay for a while now, Tom,” she said as calmly as she could in an attempt to get him to lower his voice. It seemed to work.

 

“We were getting it back, though.”

 

“I just-“

 

“Just tell me who it is?” Tom demanded.

 

“No one!” she insisted.

 

“So why was this even in your bag?” he pressed.

 

“He told me he’d got rid of it,” she answered in a small voice.

 

“Who?”

 

“Reddington,” she said bluntly.

 

“You were with _him_?” he exclaimed, aghast.

 

Liz shook her head. “It was an undercover thing.”

 

“So you couldn’t have just taken your ring off?”

 

“It was a more credible backstory for meeting his contact,” she reasoned.

 

“ _More credible_ ,” he echoed. “Look at what he’s doing to you, Liz. What he’s done to _us_.”

 

“He’s not done anything,” she defended. “I told you, it’s just work.”

 

“So that’s how you work, is it?”

 

“What?”

 

“Sleeping with the enemy to advance.” He shook his head sadly. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, tossing the ring on to the bed before he pushed past her to go downstairs. She watched from the top of the stairs as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door, still limping a little from the incident with Zomani.

 

“Tom,” she called out, voice thick with emotion, blinking back tears. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look up at her.

 

“Don’t be here when I get back,” he said coldly before wrenching the door open and slamming it behind himself as he stormed out. She sank down to sit on the top step, leaning into the balustrades and sobbing openly in the silence of the empty, alien house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise. Cheer yourself up with the blues song mentioned: "Back Door Man" performed by Howlin' Wolf (this version specifically: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qM86JqcW80)


	10. Chapter 10

Once she had finished crying, Liz became angry. Seething, she threw some clean clothes into her overnight bag and picked up the platinum ring from the bed, pocketing it before calling a cab. She gave the driver the address from her phone and soon found herself outside Red’s apartment building. There was no sign of Dembe. She wiped her eyes and punched the buzzer for the penthouse suite; no response came through the speaker but the front door buzzed to signal she should come through. She strode into the elevator and travelled to the top floor, finding Red waiting for her, leaning casually in the doorway.

 

“You bastard,” she hissed, striding across the tiled lobby, throwing the ring at him as she passed him on her way into the apartment proper. He caught the ring awkwardly and followed her into the softly lit room, closing the door quietly before he turned to find her flying at him wildly. She shrieked and pummelled his chest with closed fists which he caught effortlessly; she collapsed against him then, rage dissolving into wracking sobs. He drew her close and wrapped her in his arms, one hand stroking her hair as she cried into his chest. “Why didn’t you dispose of it?” she asked quietly once her sobs had abated enough to allow speech.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, dropping his hand from her head to rub small circles on her back; he really had no idea why – the idea had seemed like a good one at the time, so he’d dropped the ring into her washbag on their last day in Edison. He had expected that she would find it and hide it on her return home; something to remember their time by.

 

“He fucking found it,” she exclaimed. “He found it and he’s accused me of-“

 

“Everything that you’ve done but are lying about,” he finished for her. She sagged against him, the weight of the truth crushing her.

 

“He’s kicked me out,” she mumbled sullenly, stepping out of his embrace which had loosened.

 

“There’s more than enough room here,” he offered.

 

She shook her head. “I can’t stay here. I’ll find a hotel or something.”

 

“You can stay tonight, or until you sort things out at home,” he insisted. “There are four bedrooms here, Lizzie; and Dembe is in an apartment on the ground floor. It’s quite safe,” he assured her.

 

“Where’s Luli?”

 

“I have no idea where she lives.” He chuckled. “She just shows up when she’s needed; it’s how we’ve always worked.” Silence descended in the apartment and Liz shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, looking anywhere by directly at Red. “Do you want something to help you sleep?” he offered, sensing how on-edge she was.

 

“Like pills?” she asked, brows raised.

 

He chuckled softly. “No, brandy; I do have sleeping pills if you’d prefer, though I don’t recommend that you mix the two.”

 

“Brandy will be fine,” she said, standing a little straighter.

 

“Would you like it warmed?”

 

“No thanks, I’ll just take it as it comes.” She moved to sit on the sofa while Red prepared her drink for her. He handed her a tumbler filled with a generous measure of brandy and she gave him a sad smile as she took it from him and sipped at it.

 

“It will get better.”

 

“No it won’t.”

 

“There will come a time for a final resolution to this mess, and after that you will find that whatever will be will be.”

 

Liz snorted into her drink. “You’re the Oracle, now?”

 

“Quite the opposite, I assure you. But I’ve years of experience on you, Lizzie; trust me on this one.”

 

She downed the remainder of her drink, gasping at the burning of the brandy as it travelled down to her stomach where it warmed her and hummed through her bloodstream. She felt drained from her emotional outpouring and drowsy. She heard Red say something, but wasn’t listening for it to make any sense.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

“Down the hallway, third door on the left; you should take that room,” he repeated. She nodded and rose from her seat on the sofa, batting his hand away from her bag and carrying it to the room herself. Once inside she mechanically undressed and got into her sleepwear, not bothering to find the bathroom to brush her teeth, and sliding between the cool sheets she pushed all thoughts of Tom, Red and the FBI from her mind and welcomed the embrace of slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz woke to the scent of something amazing wafting underneath her door. She sloughed off the sheets, grabbed her clothes, and quietly made her way to the bathroom; she heard humming coming from elsewhere in the apartment and allowed herself a small smile at the memory of how happy cooking made Red. She had a quick shower and dressed in skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt, saving her forest green jumper for later. As she brushed her teeth, a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

 

“Good morning,” he called through the door. “Breakfast is ready.”

 

“O-hay,” she called back, mouth full of toothbrush and toothpaste foam. She heard him chuckle and his footsteps fade as he disappeared back down the hall. Quickly, she finished her morning routine and exited the bathroom to deposit her sleepwear back into the bedroom before she made her way down the hallway to find Red beckoning her into the kitchen. There, at the small kitchen table, sat a plate piled with waffles, bacon and sausage; she sat, mumbled her thanks and tucked into the meal, savouring the flavours. Red sat with a plate of toast, sipping at his coffee as he perused the morning papers.

 

“How did you sleep?” he enquired as she was finishing her breakfast.

 

“Well, thanks.” Silence fell. “Thank you for letting me stay,” she said sheepishly.

 

“Not at all,” he said, looking up from his paper.

 

“You didn’t need-“

 

“Yes, I did; and so did you. Now, I won’t hear anymore about it. Have you finished your report on Edison?”

 

Liz’s hand flew to her face and covered her eyes. “My laptop is at the house,” she groaned.

 

“Would you like Dembe to escort you there?” Red offered.

 

She wanted to say no, but thought better of it. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

 

“I’ll call him up when you’re ready.” Red finished his toast as Liz sipped at her coffee. “Have you read the file I gave you?” he enquired, wiping his hands on a napkin.

 

“You know I haven’t had the time,” she answered flatly.

 

“No time like the present.” Red rose from the table to clear their plates, clearly meaning to wash up.

 

“I’ll go get it,” she sighed resignedly, making her way back to her room. She returned with the file open in her hands, eyes scanning it as she walked down the hallway. “Why don’t you tell me everything in a nutshell?” she probed.

 

“I’d really rather you read it,” he insisted, elbows deep in the washing up. Liz sat herself at the kitchen table and began to read the notes he had scribed in the front of the file, admiring his handwriting. “We’re out of sugar,” he announced suddenly, breezing past her to the coat stand to grab his jacket and select a hat; “I’ll be back shortly.” He left her alone in the apartment, quietly closing the door behind himself; she rolled her eyes at his dramatics before relocating to the sofa in the living room, and got down to the serious business of reading the file cover to cover on the three suspects for Blacklister Number Nine.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think?” Red asked, exiting the kitchen with two steaming mugs of peppermint tea.

 

“The links between all three are... tenuous at best.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’d need more evidence that they might be in league.” He seated himself next to her on the sofa and peered at the notes, nodding pensively, mug of tea cradled in his hands. “If it were just one of them, who do you think it would be?” she queried, wanting to get his take on the situation.

 

“Andrei Balcescu, Romanian.” He pointed to the description of the man in the file; she said nothing in response, just waited for him to elaborate. “He’s not one for laying low. In most of the incidents relating to Number Nine he’s been in the area.”

 

“Okay, so he’s been nearby. And?”

 

“This is why he can’t be working alone; he’s a loud character, he is missed if he leaves a party.”

 

“So, of the other two?”

 

“Izzah Ahmedi; she’s got a sadistic streak, which ties to the torture in each of the incidents.”

 

“Torture is common to many offenders,” she reasoned.

 

Red shook his head. “Not this sort.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“She’s got a rather sad story, really.” He settled himself back into the sofa before beginning his tale. “In Jordan she was sold as a child to a man four times her age and taken to Dubai – her parents needed the money. How were they to know, in their naiveté, that she was used as a sex slave from the moment she arrived in her new home?”

 

“That’s awful,” Liz muttered, shaking her head.

 

Red nodded and continued his story. “She was forcibly addicted to opiates to ensure her servitude, and a string of terminated pregnancies throughout her teens left her barren; all Izzah ever wanted since she was a little girl playing with her brothers was a family of her own, and her captor dashed that one distant hope. She, through some feat or another, managed to incapacitate him – it’s likely she drugged him – and she kept him in her cell for weeks, torturing him, violating him in every way possible, before she finally granted him the mercy of death.”

 

“That’s horrific,” Liz muttered, shaking her head at hearing of such cruelty.

 

He sniffed dismissively. “Needless to say, it’s left lasting damage. She doesn’t like men.”

 

“You’ve met Izzah Ahmedi?”

 

“Once. She called on me to get her out of a tight spot ten years ago. She was in a bit of a downward spiral with her addictions and far too close to the prostitution rings in Turkey, which were being shut down at an alarming rate. I got her out of the country and to a place she could get clean.”

 

“Let me guess, she didn’t fall for your charms?”

 

“She threatened to hang me by my big toes, hook my testicles up to an electrical current and make a Molotov cocktail out of my ass using my own monogrammed handkerchief, which was tame for her.”

 

“She sounds lovely.”

 

He smiled. “In hindsight it _was_ quite exhilarating.”

 

“So where is she now?” she asked.

 

“Close to Balcescu. He’s got a ready supply of heroin; I’ve heard she’ll do anything for a hit these days, and he’s the obvious source.”

 

“How else are they linked?”

 

“She provides the girls that work in the houses he’s operating his business from worldwide.”

 

“So what about suspect number three?”

 

“An oddball.”

 

“They’re all oddballs,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

 

“No, he’s strange even by criminal standards.” He sighed. “He’s the one I’m not sure about.”

 

“How so?” she asked, surprised that he would tell her he wasn’t sure. “What’s his business?”

 

He shrugged. “Nobody knows for sure.”

 

Liz scoffed in disbelief. “How can you be known in the criminal world without anybody knowing what you do?”

 

“As I said, he’s an odd one. He’s often around, though never seems to say much.”

 

“You’ve met him?”

 

“No. I’ve _seen_ him. I’ve enquired after his identity, even a pseudonym, and his business – surreptitiously, you understand – and I’ve drawn a blank every time.”

 

“So what’s tying him to the other two?” Liz pressed.

 

“He’s had an audience with them both on several occasions; that much I do know. I’ve seen the three of them adjourn to more private quarters for what is surely more than a friendly chat or a sampling of merchandise. That and there have been multiple murders in the past five years, globally, executed in the same manner.” He smirked at his own pun.

 

“Which is?”

 

“The manner is not important; it points to Andrei Balcescu and Izzah Ahmedi without shadow of a doubt. It’s the targets that make no sense without the third man. A drug dealer – global operation or not – does not need to take out the leader of the largest rebel group in Syria.”

 

“How do you know about the murders?”

 

“Muhammed Khawaja was a client of mine.”

 

Something in the way he said the rebel leader’s name led her to press further. “A friend?”

 

“Close enough,” he admitted. “Anyway-“

 

“So suspect three’s an assassin?”

 

“Haven’t you been listening? No, he doesn’t get his hands dirty. I’m not convinced he even _speaks_ to his clients personally, but he’s doing a lot of business all the same.”

 

“Who are his clients?”

 

“Governments at risk of being overthrown by their own people, politicians desperate to keep power over their opposing parties – I’m pretty sure Putin’s been invoiced at some point.” He chuckled at his own dark humour. “Powerful people, Lizzie, people who don’t want to give it up.”

 

“And the other two are doing his dirty work?”

 

“Mostly. Izzah gets off on it. Andrei is more likely to be supplying substances to incapacitate targets, or he’s providing weapons – he’s into those too.”

 

“And it’s just those three?”

 

Red laughed openly at her question, and she frowned in response. “Good God, no, Lizzie! They can’t be all over the world at once. They’re prominent members of a larger operation – top dogs, as it were; they are the organising members, pulling the strings to make the world dance to the tune of the highest bidder.” He leaned back in his chair. “Impressive, really.”

 

Liz remained silent for several minutes, turning the information over in her mind, working out the plausibility of the links between the three suspects Red had identified.

 

“You can’t go to Cooper with this yet,” she told him.

 

“I know,” he agreed. “We have work to do.”

 

“We?”

 

“Yes, we; I am going to see if I can find out where one or all three of them are at present, and then where they might be going if they’re meeting anytime soon.” He looked directly into her eyes. “And you, Lizzie, are going to go home, get your laptop, come back here and finish your report on Edison. You might want to pick up some more clothes while you’re there.”

 

“What if Tom-“

 

“I’m sure he’ll think twice before acting rashly with Dembe standing behind you.”

 

“I’m not staying here,” Liz told him firmly.

 

He waved her words off, rising from his seat next to her to retrieve his coat and fedora. “Then you can look up places to stay when you’ve finished your report,” he said as he shrugged into the overcoat and fished his sunglasses from the inside pocket.

 

“Fine,” she relented hotly.

 

“Lizzie,” he called softly from the front door of the apartment, she looked up at him expectantly; “my door is always open to you, no strings attached.” She said nothing, made no movement in response. He nodded to himself. “Just so you know.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is mention of Liz's dog in the following chapter; I have no idea what the dog's name is supposed to be, so I've made it up. If it's mentioned in the show I may amend it here.

Liz hit the full-stop key with a little too much force, leaving seven stops at the end of the sentence.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” she cursed under her breath, hitting the backspace key six times.

 

“Problems?” Red asked from his seat on the couch, looking up from the book he had been engrossed in.

 

“I got a little overzealous with my punctuation,” she explained sheepishly. “I’ve finished my report.” She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms over her head to work out the kinks in her neck and back from hours spent hunched over the laptop.

 

“Can I see it?” Red asked. Liz nodded and rose from her seat, handing him the laptop. With a finger marking his page in the book – ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’ – he balanced the laptop on his knees and scanned the words on the screen. His facial expression did not change as he read, and Lizzie found herself clueless as to what he was thinking. She looked around the room, realising just how many books he surrounded himself with; there were boxes of books in one corner, still not unpacked. “Fine,” he announced, snapping her attention back to him. She took the laptop, saved the document and switched it off before she placed it on the coffee table. Red had gone back to his reading so she seated herself at the other end of the couch. “Not looking for places to stay, then?” he queried in a voice far too innocent for Raymond Reddington. She closed her eyes and silently berated herself for being so forgetful. “It’s okay, Lizzie. I told you, you’re welcome to stay,” he assured.

 

She sighed. “Are you sure?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“What about the Bureau?”

 

“They’ve not bugged the place yet. If they do I will have your things moved for you; they need never know you’re here.” He made it sound like the escape from reality she had been craving since they returned from Edison. “Besides, they know exactly where I am at all times,” he reasoned, gesturing to his neck where the DARPA chip was embedded. She made no reply, but nodded to signal she relented; Red smiled, brightly but briefly. “Wonderful; I’ll make dinner.”

 

“How about takeout?”

 

“What do you feel like eating?”

 

“Chinese?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They sat, cross-legged on the floor, around the coffee table which was piled high with far too  much Chinese food. Liz piled her plate with chow mein, crispy chili beef and kung pao chicken; Red nibbled on curried Singapore rice noodles, sesame prawn toast and crispy seaweed.

 

“I feel like I need to throw up,” Liz groaned.

 

“Then stop eating,” Red chuckled at her.

 

“We haven’t even started on the lemon chicken.”

 

“Just sit for a while; let your food go down.” He swallowed the mouthful he had been speaking through. “How about some music?”

 

“What do you have?”

 

He rose and meandered to a set of shelves chock-full with vinyl; he browsed for a moment before making his selection. Carefully, he slid the record from its sleeve and placed it on the deck almost reverently; he pressed play and watched as the mechanical arm lifted from its cradle and settled into the grooves of the vinyl. Soft jazz filled the room and returned to his seat on the floor; Liz smiled and nodded to him by way of complimenting his taste before moving to seat herself on the sofa. She fingered the spine of the book he had been reading. “You never told me,” he began carefully, “what you’re planning on doing regarding your husband.”

 

“Probably because I don’t know,” she admitted.

 

“Will you go back?”

 

“Probably.” When he didn’t reply she expanded on her answer. “I have to, really.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Because if I don’t it’s like I’m running away.”

 

“But that’s exactly what you want to do, isn’t it, Lizzie?”

 

“Even so, I should go back and I should talk to him; explain things calmly. Say that we didn’t have much time to come up with a cover story.”

 

“If it helps you can blame me entirely.”

 

“You know, I just might.” She yawned.

 

“You’re tired,” he stated. “You should get some rest. I’ll clean up in here.” She nodded and wordlessly left the living room, sleepily making her way down the hallway to her room; once inside she prepared for bed and slid under the covers, beginning to drift to sleep almost immediately. She thought she heard the front door open and close, but she was too tired to think on it before sleep claimed her.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Rise and shine,” Red’s sing-song voice roused her from slumber as he strode into the bedroom and flung the curtains open, flooding the room with winter sunlight. Liz groaned at the unwelcome intrusion and pulled the duvet over her head in protest. “You have to be at work in half an hour,” Red said flatly.

 

“What?!” Liz leapt out of bed, eyes wild with panic. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Red laughed at her. “What is so funny?” she hissed.

 

“Relax, Lizzie; you have an hour.” She checked the clock next to the bed; the bastard.

 

“You lied to me?”

 

“It got you out of bed, didn’t it?” He looked far too happy and energetic for the time of day.

 

“I suppose,” she groused, attempting to flatten her bed-hair.

 

“Breakfast will be ready in twenty,” he informed her before he disappeared from the room. “And don’t get back into bed,” he called from the hall. Liz snorted and went about her morning routine.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Work was a drag. She had handed her report to Cooper in the morning but had heard nothing since. Ressler was tasked with tracking Carl, Red’s contact from Edison; as she had been in Edison and met Carl, however briefly, she was put on the job with the moody agent. It had been a day of awkward silence and clipped tones. Red had called into the Post Office; he arranged with Cooper that he would personally check in every other day, and by telephone on the days in between to allow him time and freedom of movement to ‘keep up appearances’ with his contacts in the criminal world. Astonishingly, Cooper had agreed. It irked Liz that she hadn’t seen Red and that he had not mentioned that he would be dropping by during the day.

 

Dembe picked her up from work in the Mercedes and took her to her own home, which was the opposite direction to Red’s apartment. She looked across at Dembe questioningly, a mild panic setting in.

 

“Mr Reddington requested that I bring you to your home,” he explained. “I will wait outside; if you need assistance, call on the number you already have,” he said. Liz slowly nodded her understanding and took a deep breath before she exited the car; she headed to the house, realising she no longer thought of it as her home.

 

On letting herself in the front door, Liz deduced that Tom was home as she could hear the TV in the living room; she rounded the doorway and as she entered the room he stood immediately, the picture of nervousness, but she knew what he was like despite appearances.

 

“Where have you been?” he asked quietly, jamming his hands in his pockets and not meeting her eyes.

 

“At a friend’s,” she replied, her grip on her handbag strap tightening.

 

“Which friend?” he pressed.

 

“Does it matter?” She cursed herself inwardly at reverting to being defensive.

 

“Well, yeah. Your friends are my friends, Liz; I called around and nobody had seen you. I’ve been worried about you.”

 

“I’m fine,” she lied. Silence stretched between them, threatening to suffocate her; she shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Tom, I- I can’t do this right now.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“I can’t talk about what happened.”

 

“In Edison?”

 

“No, Tom. About what happened when I got back and you accused me of being a whore.” He flinched a little as she said it, but it wasn’t enough for her. “Is that really how you see me?” she asked quietly.

 

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said by way of an excuse.

 

“Well you weren’t drunk, so you must’ve had enough coherent thought to arrive at your conclusion,” she half-snapped.

 

“I-“

 

“I can’t do this,” she repeated before she turned and left the room.

 

“Where are you going?” he questioned as she began to head up the stairs. “Liz!” he shouted up at her. She found she couldn’t answer as her throat tightened and tears pricked at her eyes; she heard his footfalls on the stairs and reached for her cellphone, the weight of it comforting in her hand as she prepared Dembe’s number. “Liz,” Tom said, now standing in the doorway, “come on, Liz... let’s talk about this. I’m sorry about what I said, okay?”

 

“No, it’s not okay.” Her hand tightened around the cellphone.

 

“It’s not okay that you won’t tell me where you’ve been staying,” Tom shot back at her.

 

“It’s none of your business,” she said bluntly.

 

“As your husband, I think it is my business.”

 

Something in her snapped at his tone. “You should’ve thought about that before you kicked me out!” she shouted at him.

 

“Fine,” he boomed from the doorway, “then leave again. Go on, get your stuff and get the fuck out of this house... and take the damn dog with you.”

 

“Hudson?”

 

“He’s _your_ dog!”

 

“What has gotten into you?”

 

“I could ask the same of you, Liz.” He attempted to soften his voice. “Where is the girl I know?”

 

“I am the same person, Tom.”

 

“No, you’re not,” he insisted. “You’re secretive, you’re too serious for your own good, you don’t _talk_ to me anymore.”

 

“I could say the same for you.”

 

He stopped and blinked a couple of times. “What?”

 

“Who are you, Tom? I mean, really?” she questioned.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“The box.” She went all in.

 

“Box? What box?”

 

She scoffed. “Stop playing dumb.”

 

“What box, Lizzie?” he questioned, though his tone belied his knowledge of what she was talking about.

 

“You know, the one under the floorboards?”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Just stop it,” she hissed. “Is Keen even your real surname?”

 

“Liz,” he took a step towards her and she hit the button to dial Dembe’s number, unsure of her safety now she had played her hand. “Whatever you think you’ve found, you can just forget about it, okay?”

 

“Too late for that.” She moved to go to the chest of drawers to grab some clothes but he blocked her and grabbed her tightly by her upper arms; her vision became blurred as tears threatened again.

 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, Liz. Just leave well enough alone,” Tom growled at her. Just then, the bedroom door burst open and Dembe stood on the other side of it. Tom immediately released Liz and whirled around to face the mountain of a man in the doorway. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, though didn’t get any closer as it was clear who the victor would be in a fight.

 

“It’s okay, Dembe,” Liz assured, hoping the situation would not escalate further. “I’ll be ready in a second.” She wiped at her eyes and retrieved her small suitcase from under the bed, throwing as many clothes into it as she could. She moved past Tom, who stood stunned, and Dembe moved aside to allow her to exit the room, though his eyes remained trained on her husband. “I just need to get my dog,” she said to the bodyguard.

 

“A dog?” Dembe questioned. “Mr Reddington-“

 

“Is only allergic to cats,” Liz finished for him, ignoring Tom’s outraged cry at the mention of Red’s name. Once downstairs she quickly packed up Hudson’s food and water bowls and grabbed the lead off its hook by the front door before she called for him and took him out to the car, Dembe in tow.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Red?” she called, entering the apartment with Hudson on the lead; Dembe followed her inside and closed the doors.

 

“Lizzie,” Red greeted, breezing into the living room from the hallway only to stop in his tracks. “And who have you brought with you?” he queried, nodding at her canine companion.

 

“This is Hudson; Tom’s kicked us both out this time.”

 

“That answers my second question.” He seemed to be lost in thought momentarily. “Come in and make yourself comfortable. Dembe, can you put Lizzie’s bag in her room and Hudson’s things in the kitchen? I have a small business matter to attend to.” Dembe nodded and silently followed Red’s instructions. Liz sensed a deep respect between the two men and wondered how they came to know each other. Just as Red disappeared back into the room next to hers – an office, she assumed – another door opened and Luli stepped out, apparently wearing nothing but her underwear and the robe; Red’s red silk robe. Liz’s stomach flip-flopped for a moment until she regained control of herself, admonishing herself for feeling anything at the sight of the garment.

 

“Hey,” Luli greeted flatly as she passed through to the kitchen to fix herself a drink.

 

“Hi,” Liz responded quietly, seating herself on the sofa and turning her attention to Hudson who whined and struggled against his lead, wanting to explore his new surroundings desperately. Luli silently returned to the room she came from; Liz guessed it was probably Red’s bedroom and again felt a pang of something akin to jealousy. She shook her head and reminded herself that what had happened between them in Edison stayed in Edison, although she could use a hug.

 

Red exited his office and joined Liz on the sofa, holding his hand out, allowing the canine to come to him; Hudson almost immediately flopped on to his back and looked to Red expectantly. The criminal mastermind relented with a smile and scratched Hudson’s belly. “You’re not so bad, are you?” he said to the dog. “How’re you holding up?” he asked Lizzie.

 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I brought the box up.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, he knows I know about it, obviously... but I didn’t get any answers.”

 

“What did he say exactly?”

 

“Whatever I thought I’d found I should forget about it, and that I have no idea and should leave it alone.”

 

“You’ve rattled him, then.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I’ll have him watched,” Red stated.

 

Liz shook her head. “I really don’t think that’s-“

 

“You don’t know who he is or what he’s going to do next, Lizzie. It’s a reasonable precaution to take,” he told her, serious now.

 

“He knows I’m staying with you, too,” she said.

 

He closed his eyes at her confession and for a moment he looked very tired. “Does he know where we are?” he asked after a moment.

 

“No,” she confirmed.

 

“Good.” Red sat up straight and Hudson whined at the lack of contact until Liz took over with the belly scratching. “Luli!” Red summoned. Luli, now fully dressed, emerged from his room once more; Liz didn’t look at her. “Please get in touch with Reinhardt; call in that favour he owes me. If there are issues, send Dembe.”

 

“On it,” she confirmed as she made her way to the door and left the apartment.

 

“Just so I know,” Liz began, treading carefully, “I mean, if I’m going to be staying here, are you going to be... _entertaining_ regularly?”

 

He smirked. “I’ve told you before, Lizzie, I’m a man with needs.”

 

“I appreciate that, but all the same.”

 

“I don’t generally entertain, as you so delicately put it, in my own home,” he informed her.

 

“So, Luli...”

 

He shrugged. “Light relief.”

 

Liz wrinkled her nose at the term he used. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

 

“I’ll not go into great detail, Lizzie. We had a mutually satisfactory meeting... we were both _entertained_ ; I, for one, certainly feel better for it.” He was practically leering at the memory so she coughed to remind him she was there. “Don’t be such a prude,” he admonished lightly; “it’s nothing you haven’t seen or done with me before.” With a sigh as the wink he gave her she rose and took Hudson to the kitchen, filling his water bowl before setting it on the floor. “He is housetrained?” Red asked, now leaning in the kitchen doorway.

 

“Yes,” she confirmed, straightening. “I think I’ll take him for a walk; it’ll do me some good.”

 

“Would you like some company?” he offered.

 

“Um, I should be fine.”

 

“You don’t sound fine, Lizzie,” he remarked.

 

“That’s because I’m not,” she snapped.

 

“I know.” He left his post and she heard him collecting his keys. “I will walk with you,” he stated after a moment, now by the coat stand selecting a hat.

 

“Fine,” she sighed, grabbing Hudson’s lead from the kitchen counter. She cursed under her breath. “Is there a pet store near?” she called.

 

“A few blocks east,” he responded. “Need something?”

 

“A dog bed, biscuits and more food,” she reeled off, walking into the living room with Hudson. “I didn’t have time to grab everything,” she explained.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you think I should go back again?” Liz asked Red, her hands wrapped around the hot chocolate he had bought for her. They sat on a bench in the park, surrounded by her purchases from the pet store, as Hudson happily sniffed around his new environment.

 

“To serve what purpose?” Red questioned after a moment spent considering her question.

 

“Information? Maybe he’ll tell me what’s going on; why the box is there, why he thinks I can’t know anything,” her voice cracked a little. “He’s my husband, Red; surely that means something?”

 

“First and foremost it means he’s a fool for treating you in such a way.” She looked at Red questioningly. “You are a gift, Lizzie.” He smiled sadly, turning from her to watch Hudson. “Secondly, it begs the question of how much of what you had with him was real and how much might be an act; do you really want to find out?”

 

“I’m so confused,” she whispered. Red’s gloved hand found hers and clasped it tightly, as though he were trying to convey everything in that one gesture. She sniffed, keeping her fresh tears at bay, and finished the hot chocolate quickly. “We should get back,” she said before calling out to Hudson, relinquishing Red’s hand as she stood to gather her purchases. “Can you take him?” she asked, proffering the lead to Red; he accepted and they were soon strolling through the chilly night back to Red’s apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Liz found herself in the throes of another nightmare. Dark figures scratched and clawed at her; they said nothing, but she felt the weight of their silent accusations, wrapping her in confusion and bewilderment as they grasped at her limbs and pulled her to and fro like a ragdoll; she bucked against them frantically but they would not relinquish their grip on her.

 

Through the nightmare she heard a quiet voice drifting to her. “Come on, Hudson... off.” She felt the a weight lift, displacing her, before another heavier weight replaced it, bringing a warmth which enveloped her. “Shh, it’s alright, Lizzie,” the voice spoke again, clearer to her this time as she roused.

 

“Help me,” she mumbled, still mostly asleep.

 

“I’m here,” he replied softly, watching with concern as she fell into a deep sleep, finally lying still against him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She woke slowly, feeling as though she hadn’t slept at all, finding her throat very dry; she turned her head to see the back of Red’s head on the pillow next to hers. She found his presence bizarre and was about to wake him to demand what he was doing in her bed but Hudson beat her to it, jumping up on to the bed to greet her enthusiastically, effectively disturbing Red who sat bolt upright in the bed with wide eyes searching for the source of his sudden state of wakefulness. Liz laughed a little and petted Hudson, silently thanking the dog for providing the rude awakening she had been gearing herself up to, though she soon shooed him from the bed; Hudson padded from the room, happily wagging his tail. She laid back down on her back, eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling.

 

“I wasn’t expecting to wake with you in my bed,” she commented.

 

“You were having a nightmare,” he answered. “You were making such noise that Hudson was whining. I came in to see what all the commotion was about, lest the neighbours come knocking.”

 

“Oh,” was all she could say, the details of her nightmare completely eluding her; it explained why she felt like she hadn’t slept. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It was no trouble,” he said, waving off her apology. “You soon settled down.”

 

“Do you have plans today?” Liz asked, changing the subject.

 

“Not one. I’ve sent Dembe to look for somebody that might lead us to our Mystery Man.”

 

She smiled. “He’s playing detective?”

 

“I’ve bought him a deerstalker and a pipe to mark the occasion,” he joked and she laughed at the idea of Dembe returning to find the detective-related paraphernalia, giving Red a light swat on the arm. “So I thought a lazy day would be good for us both,” he finished.

 

“Like in Edison?” she muttered.

 

“Except for the hangover,” he confirmed.

 

“I suppose you still came to my rescue,” she commented.

 

“Always, Lizzie.” He looked at her meaningfully and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

“Red,” she began, “I need you to level with me here,” there was no way of saying it delicately so she jumped in with both feet; “what exactly is going on between us?”

 

“Such a direct question!” he responded, rolling on to his back. She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him, determined that he would give her a straight answer for once.

 

“I think I deserve to know where we stand with each other, since it concerns us both,” she informed him. “You’ve been flitting between ‘strictly business’ and ‘devastatingly flirtatious’ since we returned.”

 

“Let’s not be forgetting ‘knight in shining armour’.”

 

“I’d hate to overinflate your ego,” she commented dryly and he chuckled before becoming serious.

 

“Lizzie, I need you to understand that I enjoyed our time in Edison.”

 

“You mean you were ‘entertained’?”

 

“We both were,” he responded flatly, “and while I would like nothing more than a repeat performance I will not pressure you to choose between a brief escape with me or figuring out what to do about that husband of yours.” She said nothing, so he continued. “We both know what your choice would be; anybody in your position would make the same one.”

 

“Were you on your own little escape with Luli?”

 

Red laughed then, a deep rumbling laugh of sheer mirth and surprise, before looking at her with one eyebrow raised; he got out of bed suddenly and extended his hand to her across the mattress. “Come with me,” he said. Unsure what he was about, she took his hand nonetheless and slid across the bed to exit it’s warmth on his side. He led her from the bedroom across the hall to his own bedroom door; on opening it Liz was first and foremost jealous – while her room was light and airy, his was dark and brooding with sumptuous fabrics and plush carpets, the heavy furniture he seemed to favour sat solidly and a tall folding screen segregated the bed from the rest of the room. He gestured to the window where a chess table flanked by two chairs sat; a game left in play.

 

“You were playing chess?”

 

“Yes. We were _entertaining_ ourselves,” he explained with a smile.

 

“She was in your robe... in her _underwear_ , Red! What was I supposed to think?”

 

“She used the shower; something about hers being broken. She really doesn’t like baths – phobia of drowning.” He paused for a moment. “Jealousy does not become you, Lizzie.”

 

She pointedly ignored his last statement. “But what about your comment?” When he raised a brow she expanded on her question. “About it being nothing you and I haven’t done.”

 

“I’ll admit that was sheer fabrication on my part; you were flustered, and you know what I think of that.” He smirked and she sighed in irritation.

 

“Games, Red; it’s always games with you, isn’t it?”

 

“I’m going to take it that was rhetoric, but yes; I make my own fun.” She thought he was entirely too pleased with himself and decided to stop the conversation there, lest he explode from the sheer enjoyment he was having at her expense.

 

“I’m going to feed Hudson,” she stated. “Do you want some coffee?”

 

“That would be perfect,” he nodded. “I’ll see you back in here,” he said, moving behind the screen to turn the bed down. “Dembe should have left the morning papers on the coffee table; would you be a dear and bring them back in with you?”

 

“What did your last slave die of?” she called from the hall, smiling to herself at the sound of his answering chuckle and footsteps behind her as he came to retrieve the newspapers himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She returned to his bedroom with a tray laden with coffee and toast, Hudson following her into the room.

 

“Do you mind?” she asked, nodding to the dog at her feet.

 

“Not at all,” Red answered, looking over the newspaper at her. She stopped in her tracks.

 

“You wear glasses?” She immediately felt like a fool for asking, as he was quite clearly wearing a pair.

 

He shrugged. “From time to time.” She set the tray down on the bedside table and shooed Hudson away from the toast. The dog sniffed and leapt up on to the bed, settling himself at the bottom of the mattress, his head resting on Red’s legs. Liz prepared a cup of coffee and handed it to Red. “Thank you,” he said, taking an appreciative swig. “Perfection,” he announced before returning his attention to the newspaper. Liz slid under the covers and nibbled on some toast, moving to read over Red’s shoulder; he was reading about a bomb blast in the Middle East.

 

“Anyone you know?” she queried, gesturing to the article with her toast.

 

“Extremists,” he said, shaking his head, “although there’s another article on a possible poisoning of a Swiss official; that one’s definitely down to an Albanian I had the pleasure of dining with last year.”

 

“What’s it like?” she asked after a moment of silence.

 

“That’s a broad question, Lizzie; you’ll have to be more specific.”

 

“Living like you have been for the last twenty or so years?”

 

“Dangerous, thrilling-“

 

“Lonely?” she interjected.

 

“Occasionally,” he admitted. “Although it’s also very busy, so I didn’t miss it all that much.”

 

“You didn’t want a companion?”

 

“I had a couple, years back, but it soon becomes tiresome, especially when they start asking questions.”

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, honestly curious as nobody knew what he had been doing while under the radar.

 

“My business takes me all over the world, Lizzie. If I get a call at two in the morning in Paris and I have to be in Brazil, then I go to Brazil immediately. My companions never quite understood that they could not always join me, that they were safer at a distance; and they didn’t appreciate being kept in the dark about my business either.”

 

Liz nodded her understanding. “I see.”

 

“So,” he continued, “it’s often worked out that I am better off alone; it’s safer.”

 

“No close personal ties.” She nodded. “Fits the profile.”

 

“Of course it does, it was your profile.” She snorted. “You’re an excellent profiler, Lizzie; I just have a terrible habit of clouding your judgement.”

 

“Tell me about it.” She slid down into the bed, feet disturbing Hudson who jumped from the bed and padded out of the room. She sighed deeply in the silence of the room. Red fingered the corner of the page he was reading – she noticed. “What is it?” she asked.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You’re fidgeting; distracted,” she stated, turning to look at him.

 

“You’re in my bed, Lizzie; how can I not be?”

 

“You want to play chess?” she quipped.

 

He barked a laugh. “Luli would kill me if I ruined her game, although I can think of more creative uses for the table,” he said, eyeing her over his glasses.

 

“Beast,” she said, sniffing dismissively.

 

“Vixen,” he retorted, smirking.

 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, attempting to derail the flirting they had begun.

 

He closed his newspaper and took his glasses off, setting both down on the bedside table before fixing her with a penetrating stare. “How far would you go then, Lizzie? Hmm?”

 

“Um.” She didn’t like the way his voice had dropped, and the predatory gleam in his blue eyes meant he was definitely after something. She was torn, though she didn’t move away when he sidled closer to her, now on the same pillow as her.

 

“On a scale of ‘Post Office’ to ‘Edison’, how far?” he asked, his voice now a low rumble, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. He was the proverbial snake in the Garden of Eden; he would offer her anything if she would just take the fruit he offered, consequences be damned. A devil, whispering in her ear; not to be trusted, their past liaison aside; but he was there, and had always been there since she had been thrust into the whole Blacklist mess – that _he_ admittedly instigated – and he never judged her. No pressure, no strings; she could go for that. The apartment, much like the house in Edison, had become a safe haven despite the still-present threat of Cooper giving the order to have the place bugged; she doubted the Bureau would inform her of this if it were decided.

 

She didn’t think to spare a thought for Tom as her suspicions were practically confirmed and her feelings for him diminished greatly; as she tried to banish her husband from her heart she felt the tentative brush of another creeping into that most vital of organs, surrounding her in the warmth of his protective embrace. Decided, she turned her head and met Red’s slightly parted lips with her own. He drew back in surprise before a smile ghosted across those same lips and he leaned into her for a more thorough kiss, her hands finding his shoulders and drawing him closer to her until they lay flush against each other; his hands rested on her hips and her hands remained on his shoulders, only their lips moved to speak all that had been left buried and unsaid since Edison. After what felt like hours, though could have been mere seconds, they broke apart; still, neither spoke. Red drew her into his arms and she revelled in his embrace, clinging to him as the only true anchor in her life, legs entwined with his.

 

“Oh, Lizzie,” he sighed into her forehead, where his lips rested.

 

“I know,” she responded quietly, “we’re opening a new can of worms here, aren’t we?”

 

“Like all great love stories, it’s a complicated one.” She drew back from him at that, wide brown eyes meeting cool blue ones.

 

“ _Love stories_?” she echoed.

 

“Well, why not?” He sighed.

 

“I don’t-“

 

“I will take however much of yourself you want to give, Lizzie; I won’t pressure you into reciprocating any feelings I might have.”

 

“You... love me?” He said nothing and she pulled back from his further to look him in the eye. “Raymond Reddington, are you telling me you’re _in love_ with me?”

 

“It’s complicated,” he muttered before rolling away from her and sitting himself on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “It’s evidently madness on my part,” he began, “you’re an FBI agent after all and I am, as it is so well-documented, the Concierge of Crime! A veritable title for some comic-book fiend if ever I heard one.” He was ranting now, evidently flustered by his unwitting confession.

 

“It’s okay,” she mumbled.

 

“What was that?” he half-snapped.

 

“I said, it’s okay,” she repeated louder this time, though still unsure of the mood he had suddenly slipped into. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand over his face.

 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, though she heard.

 

“It does add another layer of... complications,” she admitted carefully. He chuckled hollowly.

 

“You know, in the past week I’ve been having dreams,” he began, and Liz moved closer to him – aware that, for a rare moment at least, he was being completely honest with her; “we’ve just finished with the last name on the Blacklist, so naturally everyone’s elated... even Donald.” She snorted, though he seemed not to hear. “There’s a party; you look beautiful, wearing that black dress you bought in Newark, and I ask Dembe to give you a message to meet me on the balcony... and then we leave.”

 

“Leave?” she echoed.

 

“Yes. You and I, on a chopper, from the balcony. Suitably dramatic, don’t you think?”

 

“Where to?” she pressed cautiously.

 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Anywhere; we just disappear.”

 

“That sounds-“

 

“Terrible? Absurd? Insane?” he listed.

 

“No, it sounds very,” she searched for the words but could only think of one; “ _Reddington_.”

 

He laughed. “Of course, it’s absolutely preposterous; I-“ She silenced him with her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. His unguardedly tired expression caused her heart to tighten in her chest.

 

“It sounds quite perfect, actually,” she admitted without thinking.

 

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t go with me.”

 

“Play your cards right and the _Concierge of Crime_ may end up with a sidekick; we’ll have to think up a name for me,” she joked.

 

“I’d retire,” he stated quickly.

 

“Why?”

 

“I believe I’ve highlighted the dangers of coming along with me, as well as the constant travel; jetlag is not conducive to a happy relationship.”

 

“I can handle myself,” she assured.

 

“All the same, I’d much rather spend my time in an old farmhouse in Firenze, surrounded by vineyards with no neighbours for miles.”

 

“Oh, that sounds better.” She smiled at him, trying to lift him out of the mood he was in. “Can we go now?”

 

He chuckled, beginning to sound more like himself. “No loose ends, Lizzie,” he admonished lightly before becoming serious again. “I am prepared to end with Number Nine and leave enough information with your employers for them to scramble to capture the rest,” he stated, “and you will deal with your husband. If you still wish to leave at that point, I will make the necessary arrangements to ensure our safe departure from the States.”

 

“You’d do that for me?”

 

“I should be asking the same thing of you.” He stretched and rose from his seat on the bed. “I will take Hudson for a walk,” he informed her, changing the subject. “You should stay here; try out the bathtub.”


	13. Chapter 13

Liz followed Red’s suggestion and sat in the bath with a glass of Chardonnay and a battered novel she had pulled from the shelves and was now fully ensnared by. This was how Red found her on his return from a bracing winter afternoon stroll with Hudson, whom he had found to be a most agreeable canine companion, if a little excitable; he was no guard dog, that was for sure. Lizzie finally looked up at him, wine glass in hand held above the copious bubbles that hid her submerged form from his roving eyes.

 

“Good walk?” she asked conversationally.

 

“I think we’ve tired each other out,” he remarked, casting his gaze down the hall to see Hudson flopped on the living room floor – he would need to get the cleaner around twice a week to deal with the fur the dog was leaving around the apartment. Liz smiled softly at him. “What is it?”

 

“This bath is amazing,” she said. “So is the wine; hope you don’t mind me helping myself.”

 

“Not at all. Did I not insist you make yourself at home?”

 

“I well and truly have.”

 

“Indeed. I’ll start on dinner.” He disappeared from the doorway to the kitchen.

 

Red’s return caused Liz to think on their earlier conversation; would she truly elope with him? A farmhouse in Florence sounded all well and good, but they’d still be on the run – her especially. What if he didn’t retire? She would surely rack up the same charges if they were ever caught. She would be putting herself in danger purely to stay with him. Was he that important to her in the long-term, or did she feel closer to him due to the current circumstances in her life with Tom and her employers? He had said that if she still felt the same once they were finished with Number Nine then she could join him, but how long would that take? Would she still feel the same?

 

Things had changed between them again; she was now aware of his feelings toward their interactions, however he had not pressed her to reveal her own. The ball was, it seemed, in her court. She thought on their situation deeply and concluded that it would be more fulfilling to go with him; he could show her things she’d never otherwise see, and teach her all sorts of cultural... _stuff_. She shook her head at the stupidity of her thoughts; the wine was working.

 

Reluctantly, she got out of the cooling bathwater and wrapped herself in a large bath sheet, eyeing the red silk robe handing on the back of the door. She thought on his explanation of Luli’s state of dishabille the day before and still wasn’t entirely convinced they had been merely been playing chess; the notion of strip chess briefly entered her mind but was swiftly quashed. She would keep an eye on future interaction between Red and his pretty Asian assistant; she pulled herself up at the realisation she was already thinking possessively about Red.

 

She towelled off and slipped into her underwear – the same black set she had worn in Edison, she realised – and put the red silk robe on over the top. Still detecting Luli’s perfume on the robe, she made a quick detour to her room and spritzed some of her own perfume before she made her way to the living room. Red caught her scent as she passed the kitchen door.

 

“Marking your territory?” he remarked with a wry smile, but she said nothing. She opened the book she had tucked into the pocket of the robe and continued to read the novel, curling herself up on the sofa. Hudson soon joined her for some affection. Red joined them shortly after, selecting a tome of his own – Nietzsche – and they sat in companionable silence until dinner was served.

 

Dinner itself was an affair of few words but many meaningful glances; a brush of their fingers on passing the salt to Red had sent a bolt of electric longing to her core. She shifted restlessly in her seat as she chewed on the coq au vin Red had made. He watched her intently over the rim of his wine glass, and while the intensity of his attention bothered her it also made her flush with a heat that pooled in her belly. She admitted to herself that she wanted him, and at her acceptance of the fact there could be no going back; no Tom, no terraced house – work was going to be hell. Red smirked at her knowingly, reading her like an open book; he knew exactly what he could do with a well-practiced look borne from years of experience. After dinner they returned to the sofa, Liz lying with her feet in Red’s lap as they read, one of his hands kneading her instep as they sat quietly with Hudson at their feet.

 

When it came to adjourning for the night, Liz bade Red goodnight and made the bold decision to enter his room, shedding the robe and her bra before sliding underneath the thick duvet. She waited and listened for any indication that he might be retiring for the night. After what felt like an age she nodded off to sleep, alone in the kingsize bed behind the antique screen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Liz was awoken by movement behind her; she felt him draw her across the bed and into the warmth of his body, chest hair scratching pleasantly against the skin of her bare back.

 

“Did you really think that I didn’t know exactly what you were trying to do?” he drawled, breath hot against the shell of her ear as he spooned himself against her.

 

“Just throwing some signals out there,” she uttered lamely, brain ceasing to function altogether as he palmed her breasts, fingers gently swirling then pinching lightly at her nipples which responded readily to his touch. He hummed in agreement, dropping his mouth to her neck and littering the skin there with open-mouthed kisses.

 

“You have no idea what you do to me, Lizzie,” he all but rasped, his tongue tracing a line from her shoulder to her ear lobe, catching the flesh of her earlobe gently between his teeth. She wriggles her ass against his burgeoning cock, softly moaning her approval and reaching a hand back to knead his hip and ass to maintain the contact between them as his own hand trailed down her body to stroke at her thighs which she parted readily. He chuckled into the nape of her neck. “Patience,” he chastised. She gave a moue of disappointment, eliciting a rumble of humour from him which vibrated deliciously through his chest into her back. He was apparently as impatient as she, as he was soon sliding the black lace down her legs; she kicked the garment off and attempted to turn to face him but he stopped her, fingers brushing through the trimmed curls of her sex to find her wet; undeniable proof that she wanted him. He growled at his findings before one, then two, fingers entered her, spreading the slickness to her waiting clit which stood engorged from the stimulation he was providing the rest of her attention-starved body.

 

“Don’t make me wait,” she moaned wantonly, pulling his hand away from her by his wrist before reaching behind to tug awkwardly at his boxers.

 

“As the lady wishes,” he murmured into her shoulder, divesting himself of the garment separating their bodies. He slid his cock to her and she guided him home herself, both releasing a groan at the sensation of their joining. The moved together, finding a steady rhythm, before she twisted to find his mouth with hers. As they kissed and thrust against each other his hand found her clit and massaged it; Liz reached around to gently fondle the sac between his legs, earning a whimper from the – usually composed – man behind her. After what felt like hours he squeezed her legs tightly together and placed the hand that she had been pleasuring him with at her clit, encouraging her to bring herself off as he thrust heavily into her, his sharp breaths hot against her shoulder. As he neared completion she worked frantically at her own pleasure, the combination of her fingers and his movements sending her over the edge quickly; hands convulsing at her hips, he soon followed her into oblivion, clutching her to him as his hips reflexively thrust into her through his own orgasm. Breathless and sated, they curled up together and soon drifted into sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Waking alone was becoming a habit for Elizabeth Keen. With a deep sigh she rose from the rumpled bedcovers and darted across the hall to her own room to fetch her clothes. On her way to the bathroom she heard Red’s voice from down the hall; he was on the phone. She padded down the hall with the intention of letting him know she was up and would be heading into work, however she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the grim look on his face as he hung up the call.

 

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” he said by way of greeting. “Dembe has turned up some information on suspect three; a pseudonym, which is as good a place to start as any. He’s making further enquiries on my behalf; perhaps I will be able to arrange a meeting with the man himself.” He stopped thinking aloud and looked at her. “Get dressed,” he instructed, “you’ll need to go to Harold with this now.”

 

“Good morning to you too,” Liz mumbled, turning back down the hallway and shutting herself in the bathroom. She showered and dressed quickly before leaving to meet Dembe in the lobby of the apartment block, calling Cooper on her way down the stairwell; he sounded suspicious, and rightly so as she refrained from telling him anything over the phone, but agreed to call a meeting nonetheless. She didn’t comment when he said he’d have Reddington brought in, instead she insisted that Dembe drive her to the FBI black site as quickly as possible.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After giving Cooper and, by proxy, Ressler a quick overview of the situation with Blacklister Number Nine, Liz made her way to meet Reddington. She carefully schooled her emotions and reaction when she saw Red handcuffed to the unforgiving chair in the cavernous space that housed his temporary cell. Once Cooper and Ressler were in the viewing booth she requested that Red repeat the information he had told her ‘over the phone’ that morning; he had left a message on her cell to cover the tracks of how she came to receive the information from him.

 

“As you well know,” he began in his usual theatrical tones, “I’ve been doing some digging regarding Number Nine...”

 

She zoned out as he regaled the FBI agents with the tale of Izzah Ahmedi and Andrei Balcescu, thinking about a farmhouse in Tuscany, the warm sun on her shoulders, Hudson bounding through vineyards with a little boy- She stopped her train of thought abruptly, but couldn’t help one last question flitting across her mind; would he want a child? Unwilling to think on the question, Liz tuned back in to hear Red beginning to speak about the new information about suspect three that morning; she turned to look back at Cooper – his attention was fixed on Red, his features set in a frown as he nodded along with the information he was being given by the criminal.

 

“Suspect three in this... cell that forms Blacklist subject Number Nine is known as ‘Lacerta’. I will say this once to you: he is very, very dangerous, and incredibly well protected. I cannot begin to tell you the lengths I have gone to for this information, and I have Dembe currently scouting for more scraps in the hope we might piece the puzzle of Number Nine together.” He looked directly at Cooper, breaking his rule of speaking only with Liz. “I cannot emphasise how important it is that your agents do not make any move on Izzah, Andrei or ‘Lacerta’; not that you’ll find the latter. Do you understand me, Harold?” Liz turned and watched as Cooper and Ressler debated with each other; eventually the Assistant Director nodded his affirmation and Red sank back in his plastic chair, the picture of serenity, apparently done talking to the Bureau for the day. Liz had the distinct impression that Red wasn’t telling them everything, and she made a mental note to press him for more information once they were back at the apartment.

 

She left Red in his chair, flinching as the mechanism that moved the cell back around him squeaked, and headed up the steps to the viewing booth to speak with Cooper.

 

“What are your thoughts, Sir?” she asked politely.

 

“Reddington’s theory of a cell had some merit,” he began slowly, “but without solid links established between all three suspects, the Bureau’s hands are tied.”

 

“Why don’t we investigate this ‘Lacerta’ ourselves?” Ressler piped up from his seat in the corner.

 

“Personally, I’d take Reddington’s advice on this one,” she said; “leave his people to deal with the legwork. If this guy is dangerous is Raymond Reddington’s book, we could end up losing valuable agents in the process. We can’t get too close to this yet; by the sounds of it these people will go deeper underground if they catch so much as a sniff of the FBI,” she reasoned levelly.

 

“Alright,” Cooper agreed, “we’ll leave it in Reddington’s hands for now, but we’ll keep in close contact with him; I want regular updates on the progress of his investigations. I leave that task to you, Agent Keen,” he said.

 

“What do you mean, Sir?”

 

“We’ve not been able to access the building his apartment is in; he’s thrown a wall of legal jargon up against us and we can’t get around it. I need you to stay in the building and keep your ear to the ground; do you think you can do that?” Cooper asked. Liz’s mind screamed ‘Yes!’ but she remembered that nobody at the Bureau knew of her current living arrangements.

 

“I’ll check with Tom tonight, but it shouldn’t be a problem, Sir,” she responded dutifully.

 

“Good,” Cooper nodded and Liz turned to leave. “Oh, and Agent Keen?” She turned back to face her boss. “Good work on the Edison report; I know it can’t have been easy being stuck in such close quarters with Reddington.”

 

“It wasn’t so bad; he’s housetrained,” she quipped before leaving the viewing booth to inform Red of the arrangement Cooper had proposed.

 

“Does that sound agreeable to you?” she asked, after outlining the situation.

 

“Oh, Lizzie, that sounds perfect. We can plan house again,” he responded jovially, smirk barely concealed. She nodded and returned to the booth. Ressler could be seen poring over paperwork with Cooper, talking animatedly to the boss before leaving the booth. Red nodded to Lizzie when she looked back at him; he would be released again soon and could return to the apartment where she would meet him later.

 

Cooper requested that she wear a wire during her stay in the apartment block, however Liz insisted that Red would not accept this and Dembe would likely scan her for any devices or weapons on her way into the building – entirely false, of course, but the Assistant Director of the FBI wasn’t to know that. Reluctantly, Cooper agreed with her reasoning and requested that she speak with Donald about the plan in the Ops Room upstairs. Mentally, she cursed herself for even bringing up the fabricated plan, but she agreed and went to meet Ressler all the same; in the conversation that ensued he seemed less suspicious of her relationship with Red, although she was still unsure whether he would attempt to set up some sort of surveillance on the building outside of Cooper’s knowledge.

 

Once outside the black site, Liz pulled out her cellphone and sent a message to Dembe requesting that he meet with her and Red in the apartment later that night, also providing him an update on the unfolding situation with the FBI. She sighed, realising that playing the dutiful FBI agent while half-planning her elopement with Number Four on their Most Wanted list was going to be tiring.


	14. Chapter 14

“I’ve not heard from him; I sent him two messages earlier,” Liz said to a visibly bothered Red. They had been back at the apartment for two hours and Dembe had not shown up or made contact with either of them since the morning.  

 

“It’s extremely unlike him; he usually responds right away,” Red said, although he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Liz. His phone buzzed and he snatched it up from the coffee table, his slight frown told Liz that it was not Dembe. “Luli is on her way over,” he stated before he inelegantly flopped down on to the couch and tossed the phone to the other side; he ran a hand over the stubble atop his head.

 

“Do you know where he was?” Liz questioned.

 

“New Orleans.”

 

“New Orleans?” she echoed. “I didn’t realise he’d gone so far.”

 

“He took the jet,” Red said by way of explanation.

 

“Have you called the pilot?”

 

Red shrugged. “He hasn’t seen Dembe since they landed.”

 

“Why not leave it until-“

 

“Anything could have happened, Lizzie. Just take a moment to consider why he was there; he didn’t go for the jazz,” Red snapped.

 

“I know,” she said flatly. “I’ve never seen you so worked up.”

 

“He is the closest ally I have,” he stated.

 

“You mean he’s your friend,” she translated.

 

“Yes,” he muttered after a moment.

 

“Why not call the pilot and get the jet to pick us up? We can go to New Orleans and-“

 

“What if Dembe comes back to find the jet missing?”

 

“We can go to Cooper.”

 

“No, Harold and his team – present company excluded – won’t handle the situation, if there is one, as delicately as it needs to be.”

 

“Well we’ll have a vote when Luli gets here then.”

 

“There’s an awful lot of ‘we’ in everything you’re saying,” Red said with a smirk before he sighed. “Fine.”

 

“You sound resigned.”

 

“I know what Luli will say.” 

 

* * *

 

 

True to Red’s prediction, Luli had sided with Liz and the two women had badgered Red into calling the pilot; his jet was on its way to D.C. from New Orleans and the three of them would travel to The Big Easy. Liz made a hasty call to Cooper to inform him of the situation as it stood; he insisted on sending a surveillance kit over to the apartment in the event there was information on Number Nine that could be collected while they were in the city. Cooper had also expressed amusement at Red’s vocal protest in the background of the call – he didn’t want her talking to the Assistant Director at all. Cooper bade her a safe journey and to be careful; she promised to call for backup if it was needed and he would send a team of plainclothes agents with Ressler to New Orleans. She would brief Ressler once they arrived and would be responsible for any plans.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later saw Liz driving to the airport, silently pissed that she was the driver. Despite her few words, Luli seemed to be more on an equal footing with Red and implied a hierarchy, so Liz had felt a certain pressure to drive; Red and Luli now sat in the back of the Mercedes, and all Liz could think was that she wasn’t even insured the drive the damn thing. They soon arrived at the airfield and swiftly boarded the small jet Red owned after greeting the pilot, Roderick Jameson, who was well aware of Red’s identity. Luli fixed herself a vodka, lime and soda at the mini-bar as soon as the doors were closed. Liz noted that Red declined the offer of a drink and had remained uncharacteristically quiet; she saw that the worry for Dembe was affecting him and the compassionate side of her wanted to reach across the aisle for his hand, but she refrained on account of Luli’s presence – she wasn’t sure how much Luli knew about their relationship.

 

Luli lounged at the other end of the cabin, looking for all the world like she was departing for a holiday – her serene features didn’t look like they knew what it meant to be worried; Liz wondered to herself if Red’s Asian assistant always looked like she was trying to garner male attention, her lips twitching slightly as she realised how bitchy her thoughts were becoming. In an effort to quell her possessive mind she returned her attention to Red who was watching her with a small smirk as though he knew exactly what she had been thinking. She rolled her eyes at him and he patted the seat next to him; Liz moved to the seat and was surprised when he caught her hand and gave the back of it a quick peck before bringing their clasped hands to the armrest, giving her hand a quick squeeze which she took as a thank you from him. She glanced up from their joined hands to see Luli gawking at them.

 

“Watch the wind doesn’t change, Luli,” Red admonished lightly, “you’ll stick like that.” Luli didn’t respond but fished her cellphone from her back pocket and was doing a fantastic job of looking very interested in whatever was on the screen; she wouldn’t look at them for the rest of the flight. Liz mused that Red was rubbing off on her as she spent the entire journey with a small smirk playing about her lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On their arrival in New Orleans they checked into the Roosevelt, situated on the edge of the French Quarter. Once she had closed the door to their lavish suite she felt the investigator in her come out.

 

“Okay, let’s brainstorm,” she said to Red, who had just sat down on the sofa, hat on the seat next to him. “What was Dembe’s last known location?”

“The SoBou bar,” Red answered.

Liz nodded. “Okay, that’s a start. Who was he meeting?” He didn’t respond. “Who gave him the name?” she pressed. Red sighed and stood from his seat.

 

“I am going to speak with Luli. I shall return shortly,” he informed Liz curtly before exiting the suite. Heaving a frustrated sigh, and not sure how to feel about the new side of Red she was experiencing, Liz plopped down into one the desk chair and swivelled it slightly as her thoughts carried her away. She had been plagued by the question that had lodged itself in her mind; would Red be agreeable to having a child around, if they were to disappear together at all? She hadn’t brought it up as it was early days yet, and the situation with Dembe was paramount. Still, it bothered her.

 

Red returned from his talk with Luli with an iPad; he seated himself on the sofa and slicked through it for a few moments before he tossed that aside next to his phone. Liz watched him carefully; he looked tired.

 

“Luli is attempting to make contact with the man Dembe was meeting,” he said suddenly; “with any luck we’ll arrange to meet with him tonight.”

 

Liz nodded. “I’m just going to call Ressler and let him know where we are,” she informed him before heading down the hall of the suite to the bedroom to make the call, taking her overnight bag with her. True to her word, she called Ressler and gave him the name of the hotel, she would message him with the location and time of their meeting with the contact once it was arranged; she made him swear that he would not come barrelling in with a team of agents while the meeting was underway, impressing on him the importance of handling the situation delicately – although reluctant, Ressler agreed. Red knocked on the bedroom door once she was done talking.

 

“Come in,” she called. He entered the room and closed the door, setting his own overnight bag down next to the bed before seating himself on the bed, his back against the chintz upholstered headboard. He gestured for Liz to sit with him and she did; he took her left hand and held it for a moment before he started toying with her wedding ring.

 

“Do you think you’ll file for divorce?” he asked quietly.

 

“I imagine so,” she answered. At the mention of her marriage she recalled Red asking Luli to call in a favour back in D.C. “Who is Reinhardt?” she asked directly.

 

“An old acquaintance,” he said vaguely. In Liz’s book a vague Reddington was the most irritating kind.

 

“And the favour?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“You requested it when you were talking about Tom.”

 

He sighed. “It’s a security measure.”

 

“In case of what?”

 

“If he bothers you, Lizzie.” He turned his head to look her in the eyes. “Understand that if he causes you further trouble he will be causing trouble for me, and I will have to send him a message.”

 

“A message? Are you the Don now?”

 

“It won’t be a horse’s head,” he responded darkly.

 

“What then?”

 

“You and I both know there’s more to your _estranged_ husband than he’s letting on. I expect you’ll want to get to the bottom of it eventually?”

 

“Well, yeah, but-“

 

“No buts, Lizzie. Reinhardt can assist with that.”

 

“Just how much does this guy owe you?”

 

“Oh, just the lives of his family,” Red shrugged; “it was an open I.O.U. or his firstborn.”

 

“And?”

 

“At twenty-one his firstborn is one of the most whiny, irritating people I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

 

“Do you don’t like kids?” she queried in what she hoped was a conversational manner.

 

“Quite the contrary,” he stated, though offered no more on the subject, looking away from her once more. Liz figured he might not be one for talking about children as he lived with the knowledge that he abandoned his own twenty years previously. They lapsed into silence before Red spoke again. “You don’t have any further protests then?”

 

“About what?”

 

“That is it my intent to have your husband revealed for who he truly is and brought to account for his, undoubtedly criminal, actions?”

 

She thought hard for a moment. “Just do it after the divorce,” she responded determinedly. He chuckled and squeezed her hand.

 

“As the lady wishes,” he said. “Though I doubt he’ll let you go that easily.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

Red’s phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket; it was Luli. After a few words he hung up the call and turned to Liz.

 

“I’m going to meet the contact,” he said, releasing his hold on her hand and rising from the bed.

 

“I’m coming too,” Liz argued. Red sighed and called Luli back, asking about evening wear.

 

“Fine,” he said once he had finished the short conversation. “You can borrow one of Luli’s dresses; she’ll be here in a minute with something for you.” He fetched his jacket from the other room and returned to the bedroom, fishing around in the inside pocket before pulling out the wedding band she had thrown in his face a matter of nights before.

 

“So we’re David and Claire again?” Liz asked with a raised brow; she hadn’t expected to reprise her role from Edison.

 

Red shrugged. “I thought we could be Raymond and Elizabeth?” he offered. “Unless you’ve grown fond of Claire, of course?” The knowing smirk made an appearance again.

 

A thrill went through her at his bold suggestion. “I think Red & Lizzie work better, don’t you?” she answered coyly as a knock sounded at the door.

 

“No wife of mine calls me Red,” he called from the hall as he went to meet Luli at the suite door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Red held the door for Lizzie and followed her into SoBou, a rollicking bar-restaurant in the French Quarter, and she found herself in a whirl of colours, scents and sounds; a tray of mouth-watering burgers passed her by, patrons sat and chatted animatedly, and the classic New Orleans jazz provided the soundtrack to the bartenders mixing up all manner of cocktails. Red’s hand on the small of her back steered her to a booth and she creased her brow, not understanding why they weren’t headed for some back room; he clocked her expression once they had seated themselves.

 

“Luli is arriving separately and will be engaging with the contact,” he explained.

 

“So you’re not going to meet the contact?” Liz questioned.

 

“Of course not,” he laughed as though she should have known better than to suggest such an idea, “I might end up dead,” he finished seriously.

 

“So no sign of Dembe?” she asked quietly as she sat with her back to the main area. Red shook his head.

 

“He won’t be here,” he confirmed. “Ah, there she is; with...” he peered, “that must be the contact.” He watched as Luli signalled to him behind the contact’s back. “She’s going to take him somewhere more private for their little discussion.”

 

“And you’re sure she’ll get the information?”

 

“She has her ways,” Red said by way of explanation. He had slipped into his usual Devil-may-care persona, though Liz noted that he sat closer to her in the booth and as he regaled her with amusing tales of wild nights in the Big Easy the feather light touches on her arms and shoulders as he spoke didn’t escape her attention either; she was listening to him, but her eyes were on the mirrored wall the entire time, watching for Luli’s return. “Much as I appreciate your concern for Luli,” Red’s voice brought her attention squarely on him, “we are quite likely being watched by the contact’s people, and you not looking at me is hardly going to convince anybody that we are happily married, Lizzie.”

 

“Sorry,” she said, realising the truth in what he said.

 

“Would you like to dance?” he asked politely, clearly thinking of things to take her mind off the reason they were there; she shook her head and he nodded his understanding, though the movement was almost imperceptible. “Some other time then.” The jazz band was in full swing and Red’s leg brushed hers as he bounced it to the rhythm. “You’re quiet tonight,” he remarked, “something on your mind?”

 

“When is there not?” she retorted, intending humour though he did not smile.

 

“What’s bothering you, Lizzie?” he asked, voice low.

 

“It’s not the time or place to discuss it,” she said, brushing the subject aside.

 

“Luli is dealing with the contact; we are in a secluded booth with nothing better to do until she returns. I’d rather you get whatever it is off your chest than sit here in stilted silence,” he reasoned dryly.

 

“I’ve just... been thinking.” He hummed at her to continue. “About what you said... about us leaving when this is all over.”

 

“I’m not asking you to decide now, Lizzie.”

 

“I know. Really, I do. I guess I just have some questions that I know can’t be answered yet, and that’s bugging me.” He looked at her for a long time, studying her face, his silent lips set in a grim line.

 

“You’d still want a child,” he stated plainly. The air left Liz’s lungs in shock at how easily he could read her; she couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was amiable to the idea or not, so she just nodded silently and ducked her head to hide the tears that had begun to blur her vision, the rising anxiety within her undoubtedly obvious to the man next to her. “It would be... complicated to adopt right away,” he began carefully, “but with a well-established backstory and enough forged paperwork I’m sure something could be worked out.” She snapped her head up to stare at him in disbelief; she had half-convinced herself he would not want a child, and had almost entirely convinced herself he would think it impractical and too dangerous to consider. She had no words to express the relief coursing through her so she did the only thing she could think of, she grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him to her for a hard kiss in which teeth clacked and his ears were nearly pulled off; he coaxed her into a more heated and co-ordinated kiss, and she tried to pour the depth of her feelings in that moment into the act. He broke apart from her and turned to look up. “Luli,” he greeted with a small smile, “do you have the information?”

 

“Yes,” Luli confirmed, “we should leave for the hotel. _Mrs Keen_ , you should call your... friends and update them on our movements.” Luli moved toward the exit, leaving Liz sitting stunned by her attitude; she was especially irked at the use of ‘Mrs Keen’. Red chuckled, took Liz’s hand and led her from the booth.

 

“She’s not impressed by our brazen display,” he explained as they exited SoBou into the cool night air. Liz estimated it to be around one in the morning, and the nightlife around them thrummed with expectation; Luli was nowhere to be seen on the street. Red hailed a taxi and they were soon en route back to The Roosevelt, both seemingly lost in thought as the car travelled the streets of the French Quarter.

 

The cab pulled up outside the hotel and Red exited to pay the driver before opening Liz’s door for her; she took his proffered hand and as she stood he tucked it into the crook of his elbow, walking with her to the entrance where they were enthusiastically greeted by the doorman. The remained silent in the elevator, and she ghosted into the suite ahead of Red, absently removing her earrings as she slipped out of her shoes. Her emotional response to Red’s comments had left her mind reeling, and although it was a positive answer it did nothing to quell any of the other questions she had; questions that only time could answer for her. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her to the bedroom, standing her next to the bed before he slowly unzipped the little black dress and left it to fall to the floor, the expensive material pooling about her feet, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. He proceeded to strip her of her undergarments, though did not initiate anything sexual, dropping a single kiss on her right shoulder before reaching for her sleepwear and aiding her in dressing before settling her under the heavy covers.

 

“I will return once I have spoken with Luli,” he assured her, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead before quietly exiting the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all - sorry for the long delay between 13 & 14\. As before, thanks to all who are reading this - it means a lot to me to read your feedback; and as there is no planned chain of events as such, I am open to suggestions for where you want to see this story go. Drop a comment and let me know what you're thinking; I'm all ears.


	15. Chapter 15

Liz woke with a start in the dark. Blearily, she checked the clock on the bedside table – five in the morning. The suite outside the bedroom was silent, and the absence of any light from the hall under the bedroom door caused her to sit up in the bed. Was he _still_ talking to Luli? Her mind interjected with a snide comment... perhaps they were _playing chess_? She ignored her jealousy. Something didn’t feel right. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, finding it to be switched off; she didn’t remember turning it off and it had full battery when she called Ressler as they left SoBou. No, something was definitely not right.

 

As quietly as she could she slid out of bed and pulled on her underwear and the white hotel bathrobe hanging on the wardrobe handle; carefully, she slid the draw in the bedside table open to retrieve her gun before making her way to the door. After taking a few moments to calm herself and get her bearings, she opened the bedroom door and began a sweep of the entire suite. Eventually, she had switched on all the lights in the rooms and stood in the centre of the living area; there was no sign of Red at all.

 

She went to the phone and contacted the front desk to find Luli’s room; the helpful young man on the desk transferred her call to Luli’s room, but there was no response. She hung up and took a deep breath, ignoring the rising jealousy within her; _would_ he be with Luli after everything he’d said? With a sigh she pulled her cellphone from the fluffy robe’s pocket and switched it on; she had twenty-six missed calls from Ressler. A lead weight settled in her stomach as she called him back.

 

“Where the fuck have you been, Keen?” he answered hotly.

 

“My phone was switched off,” she began, “it was on before I went to sleep.” She knew she sounded stupid. “Look, something’s up here. Red’s not here and I can’t get Luli on the phone.”

 

“He’s gone? Are you sure about that, Keen?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“The DARPA chip places him in the building still. Are you sure he’s not in the bar or something?”

 

“What?” Thoughts of Red and Luli in all manner of situations flashed through her mind. “Wait a sec, I’m going to see if I can get hold of him again.” She put the call to Ressler on hold and dialled the number for ‘Nick’s Pizza’, but there was no response. She switched back to Ressler. “Nothing,” she sighed, “Look, I’ve been here since around one thirty; the last thing he said to me was that he was going to speak with Luli and then he left the suite.”

 

“The chip is in the building, Keen,” Ressler sighed, sounding tired; “he must be there.” Just as his words had reached her ear Liz’s eyes alighted on the console table by the couch; on a silk handkerchief sat a bottle of clear alcohol, a bloody scalpel, and the DARPA chip. She cursed under her breath. “What’s that, Keen?”

 

“The chip is here. Red’s not.”

 

“What?” Ressler shouted down the phone. “I’m coming up.”

 

“What? I don’t-“

 

“Two minutes, Keen.” Ressler hung up. Liz hurried to the bedroom to throw some clothes on. Heavy insistent knocking soon heralded Ressler’s arrival; she checked through the peep-hole in the suite door to be sure, though. She opened the door and he strode into the living area, she followed and gestured to the console table. “Fuck,” Ressler swore. “Do you know where he might be?”

 

“I’ve no idea,” she said, “I can’t get in touch with him.”

 

“You think he’s gone after ‘Lacerta’?”

 

“I don’t know.” She really didn’t. Would he go rushing into a situation if ‘Lacerta’ was as dangerous as he had professed? If it meant getting Dembe back, she thought he just might. “Maybe he would,” she mused quietly.

 

“I gotta call Cooper,” Ressler said with a sigh. He began to pace the floor as he punched the number into his cell. “He’s gonna be pissed,” he remarked.

 

The suite door suddenly burst open, banging loudly against the wall, causing Liz and Ressler to aim their firearms at the short hallway the intruders would appear from; Red and Luli, supporting a clearly injured Dembe, shuffled into view and both agents lowered their weapons. Liz stood rooted to the spot, the relief and rage warring within her prevented her from movement. Ressler pocketed his phone and stared at the three before him.

 

“Where have you been?” Liz asked, breaking the tense silence and looking pointedly at Red.

 

“Back to SoBou,” Red answered. “The contact came through; he said he could arrange for Dembe to be brought back to the club, but that we’d need to act fast and make it look like a rescue to as not to implicate him.”

 

“How is he?” she asked, nodding to Dembe.

 

“I’ll live,” Dembe answered for himself. He took his weight from Red & Luli’s shoulders and slumped into a nearby chair.

 

“Why’d you remove the chip?” Ressler demanded of Red.

 

“So neither Lizzie or you and your gang would come running after me, big bad wolf that I am,” Red explained with a small smile. Dembe chuckled and Luli smirked. Liz wondered if it was some sort of inside joke. “It’s a little sore, but nothing a few painkillers won’t fix.” He turned to address Luli then. “Would you see if there’s a room available for Dembe?” Luli nodded and left the suite without a word.

 

“We should be going back to D.C.” Ressler insisted.

 

“We will leave tomorrow afternoon,” Red informed the younger man. “My security needs time to recover before the journey, and I for one would like to sleep.”

 

“I agree,” Liz piped up, “we should let Dembe rest before we head back; he’s in no fit state to fly right now.”

 

Ressler looked to Dembe who met his eyes and nodded his agreement, a hand holding his side as he winced.

 

“Let me know what room he’s in and I’ll send one of the team to check him over; we have some basic medical supplies,” Ressler grumbled.

 

“Stitches would be wonderful, also,” Red chimed in.

 

“You did that to yourself,” Ressler muttered, pushing past Red to exit the suite.

 

Luli arrived at the suite door as the agent departed, and with Red’s help she managed to get him into the elevator to take him to his room; Liz texted the room number to Ressler as promised. Then she found herself alone in the suite with Red; silence stretched between them.

 

“Are you hurt? Aside from your shoulder, I mean?” she asked, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

 

“No,” he responded, clearly sensing her stormy mood.

 

“Did you turn my phone off?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She nodded. “I’m going back to bed,” she stated, making her way across the living area to the hallway. Red turned to follow. “You can sleep on the couch,” she snapped over her shoulder. She closed the bedroom door behind her with a little too much force than was necessary and leaned back against it, taking a few deep, calming breaths; thoughts raced through her mind – would it always be like this with him? He didn’t like his actions being questioned. Did he realise that if he had asked her not to follow she... well, no, she would have followed, which made her angrier knowing that he knew her so well when she often felt she knew so little of him; he should have told her something, even a half-truth would have gone some way to placate her. Emotion washed over her and she threw herself across the bed, hugging his pillows to herself, eventually falling asleep from the exertion wrought by her racing mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Lizzie?” She was being shaken by the shoulder. As she was roused gently from sleep she found she was uncomfortable due to having fallen asleep fully clothed, but still she did not wish to move. “Wake up, Lizzie; breakfast is here,” Red’s voice persisted. She grabbed at the pillows and blindly swatted him with it; he hissed and withdrew in sudden pain and she sat bolt upright to see him holding his shoulder. “I suppose I deserved that,” he admitted once the pain abated.

 

With a deep sigh Liz disentangled herself from the sheets and hastily ran a hand through her bed hair; leaving Red standing next to the bed she left the room without a word, still angry with him for the way he handled the situation with Dembe without her. Moving into the living area of the lavish suite, she saw the breakfast trolley parked next to the table and chairs by the bay windows, she also noted that the couch did not appear to have been slept on and a chess game had been started in the corner of the room.

 

“You were playing chess all night?” she asked when he followed her from the bedroom.

 

“Whiling away the hours,” he nodded.

 

“Why didn’t you sleep?”

 

“I couldn’t,” was all he offered. He moved to pull out a chair for her and nodded towards it for her to sit. “I understand,” he began once she had acquiesced, “that you are not particularly pleased with me, but I had your safety in mind.” He held up a hand to forestall any protest from her; she noticed he still wore the ring. “We both know you would have followed me and I had no idea what the situation was myself; I wouldn’t have been able to protect you, Lizzie.”

 

“How is Dembe?” she enquired breezily, as though his explanation had never been vocalised; she wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.

 

“Two broken ribs, a black eye and three dislocated fingers; the rest is superficial damage,” Red replied flatly, his displeasure with her mood evident in his tone.

 

“Will he be okay to fly later today?”

 

“Your colleagues have patched him up adequately enough, so I imagine he’ll be fine.”

 

“Good.” She nodded. “And when do we fly?”

 

“We are scheduled to depart at three o’clock.”

 

“Okay. I think I’ll go for a walk.” She began to rise from the table but stopped dead in her tracks when Red’s fists slammed down on the tabletop.

 

“Will you stop with this childishness?” he demanded snappishly.

 

“Childishness? You think this is being childish? _Anything_ could have been waiting for you in that place, yet you still went rushing off with Luli! I thought we were a team, Red? What about the backup available from Ressler? Did you even stop to think?”

 

“As I have already said,” he began in a measured tone, evidently trying to control himself, “I did not want to put you in any unnecessary danger.”

 

“That’s never stopped you before,” she bit out venomously and headed for the door. At this he stood abruptly and strode to her, grabbing her by the arm and whirling her around to face him, holding her by the shoulders.

 

“Things are different now,” he muttered.

 

“What, because you’re fucking me?” she spat. He released her then, as though burned by her words, and without a word he moved past her and left the suite himself.

 

“Where are you going?” she called from the doorway.

 

“None of your business,” he shouted back down the hotel hallway before bursting through the door to the stairwell and disappearing from view. _Raymond Reddington did not shout_ , this much she knew. Liz closed the door and looked around the empty suite – at the hardly touched breakfast trolley, the unfinished chess game, the few personal belongings of theirs dotted about the place – and promptly dissolved into tears in the middle of the room which felt cavernous to her now. Her phone rang, disturbing her moment of despair, and she took a moment to attempt to compose herself before she answered the call.

 

“Keen,” she answered, voice thick with emotion.

 

“You okay, Keen?” Ressler asked, concern in his voice,

 

“Fine,” she assured him, trying to sound brighter. “Red and I just had a misunderstanding.”

 

“And you’re _crying_?” he pressed.

 

“I’m feeling a little fragile at the moment... from lack of sleep, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

 

“You’re sure that’s all it is?” His questioning was making her nervous.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Nothing you want to tell me?”

 

“Uh, he’s stormed out,” she said with a sigh.

 

“He’s downstairs in the bar; I’ve had an update from surveillance.”

 

“Oh,” was all she could say. Ressler remained quiet on the other end of the phone; she felt he was holding something back. “Are you still there?” she asked.

 

“You’re involved aren’t you?” he questioned suddenly.

 

“With what?”

 

“Reddington.”

 

“No,” she answered too quickly.

 

“I’m not stupid, Liz.” Despite his words his tone was softer than usual. “There’s only one bedroom in that suite, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be staying in anything smaller.”

 

She remained silent for a moment, weighing up her options. “Are you going to report me to Cooper?” she asked quietly.

 

“I should,” he said. “Look, whatever you’ve got going on with Reddington... it’s a reason for him to stick around. It could be an advantage for us.”

 

“You’re not going to use me as some sort of bargaining chip with Red,” Liz stated defensively. “I’ve pushed him today; he’ll up and leave if he decides he doesn’t want to be here.”

 

“I know he only looks out for Numero Uno, but all the same you can stay close to him; you can read him better than anybody else.”

 

“I suppose,” she admitted.

 

“He’s leaving the bar now. Don’t tell him I know and I won’t say anything to Cooper, but you _must_ share any intelligence you get from Reddington with me.” Liz was under the impression that Ressler was also looking out for _Numero Uno_ , but she agreed nonetheless. His reaction surprised her – she had been terrified at the idea of anybody learning of her relationship with Red, especially the agent who was usually so by-the-book and with the echoes of her nightmare version of him still haunting her. Ressler ended the call and she caught sight of herself in the mirror, all puffy-eyed and red-nosed; she resolved to pull herself together and took herself for a shower before Red returned to the suite.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Feeling refreshed and a little more emotionally stable, Liz exited the bathroom and deposited her laundry in the bedroom before moving to the living area where she stopped to observe Red, seated at the chess table, concentrating on his game. Quietly, she moved to stand behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders; he stiffened momentarily at the unexpected contact, but relaxed and continued his game without a word. She began to gently knead at his shoulders, careful of his stitches, and watched the game over the top of his head. He stopped after a while and hummed his approval at the unexpected massage. Liz lowered her head until she rested her chin atop his head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him loosely.

 

“I owe you an apology,” she admitted quietly. “I shouldn’t have reacted like I did. I didn’t mean what I said.” When he didn’t respond she gave him a squeeze. “But you understand my worry?” His hands came up to hold on to her arms, palms warm against her skin, and his fingers traced idle patterns on her forearms.

 

“I do understand, Lizzie,” he spoke at last. “I never intended to hurt you in my actions and for that I ought to apologise. I’d rather we leave this nasty little spat behind us and return to D.C. with clear heads.” She sighed, breath ghosting across the top of his head.

 

“Let me buy you lunch,” she insisted.

 

“No need,” he said, relaxing into her further. “I’ve already made reservations for the four of us at _Galatoire’s_.”

 

“Let me make it up to you in D.C.” she practically whined, “I feel bad about all this.”

 

“I think you just need to take some time to get used to a different type of relationship, Lizzie. I am not an easy man to get along with all the time, and I am not always a ‘nice guy’. Sometimes the animal will win out over the gentleman in me.” He paused for a moment. “Speaking of animals, you have yet to tie those loose ends of yours with Tom.”

 

“Shit,” she muttered. “I’d been focusing so much on you and Dembe and Number Nine, I’d pushed him from my mind completely.”

 

“Well, rest assured he likely hasn’t forgotten about you.”

 

“I should meet him somewhere to iron out the details.”

 

“You’re sure you’re going to file for divorce?”

 

“Yes, I need a clean break.”

 

“He won’t let that happen, you realise?”

 

“I can try to appeal to his better nature,” she responded glibly. Red snorted. “I’ll get in touch with him when we’re home.”

 

“Home, is it?” He ruminated for a moment. “I suppose it is,” he concurred.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lunch at _Galatoire’s_ was pleasant enough, though Liz still didn’t know what to make of Luli. Red toasted his ‘team’ and Dembe thanked the three of them for their efforts in returning him to safety. He assured Red he would discuss the information he had with him once they returned to D.C.

 

“So,” Luli leaned forward in her seat, “this thing between you two,” she gestured to Red and Liz, “when, where, and why?”

 

“It started in Edison, and the details are for myself and Lizzie to know. You know well enough my private affairs are just that, Luli.”

 

“Does your husband know?”

 

“Estranged husband,” Liz corrected. “I will be filing for divorce on our return,” she said. Red’s left hand found her right on the tabletop and Luli raised a brow when she noticed he still wore the wedding band that almost perfectly matched Liz’s.

 

“Raymond, I never knew you to be such a... romantic,” Luli commented, treating the word as though it were something foul tasting; it certainly wasn’t meant as a compliment.

 

“Romance was never what you wanted, Luli,” he shot back, effectively quieting his pretty aide. Liz was pleased to hear him shoot her down but also felt entitled to know exactly the history between Red and Luli.

 

“Will you be meeting with your husband on our return?” Dembe enquired. Liz nodded. “I will go with you,” he stated.

 

“That’s really not-“

 

“I would feel better if Dembe were close by,” Red interjected.

 

“I will watch from a distance,” Dembe assured, “I won’t be standing over you.” She nodded again, knowing Red wouldn’t let her meet Tom alone.

 

Red finished his espresso and picked his hat up from the table, turning to address his aide. “Luli, please take care of the check.” He turned to address their table. “I am going to pick up my usual cigars before we head to the jet.” He breezed away, leaving Liz alone with Dembe.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked him.

 

“I have had worse,” he shrugged. “Your FBI medic treated me well and, if miracles happen, Red will allow me a couple of days to recover,” he joked. Liz chuckled.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she winked at him.

 

“It is good to see you smile, Ms Keen,” Dembe said with a small smile of his own.

 

“Please, call me Liz,” she insisted and he nodded his understanding.

 

“It is good to see you happier, and to see Red happy too,” he commented, his expression open.

 

“Really?”

 

“He is much brighter since he returned from Edison,” the dark man admitted, “but don’t tell him I said anything.”

 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she assured before Luli returned and the three of them left the establishment to meet with Red and head to meet Roderick to catch their flight back to D.C.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On opening the door to the apartment Liz was jumped on by Hudson, though the dog made for Red as soon as he saw him behind Liz.

 

“Somebody’s popular,” she remarked before taking Red’s bag from him and depositing their things in his bedroom. She returned to find Red attempting to remove his shoes while trying to avoid being licked in the face by Hudson, whose wagging tail threatened to knock everything off the coffee table.

 

“Hudson,” she summoned and the dog complied. She grabbed his lead from the sideboard. “I’m going to take him for a walk,” she said to Red. “I need to do some thinking about how I’m going to handle Tom; I’ll be back in about an hour.”

 

Red nodded understandingly. “I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re back.”

 

“Something light,” she suggested on her way out of the door. Once sure she had left the apartment building Red pulled out his cell and summoned Dembe upstairs; they had much to discuss, and it would not do to have Lizzie overhear their conversation.


	16. Chapter 16

Liz sat on the park bench, coat buttoned and scarf wrapped snugly around her neck against the chill of the late winter morning; nervously awaiting the arrival of her estranged husband, she worried the scar on her wrist with her fingertips, nails occasionally scratching at the puckered skin. Dembe’s watchful presence across the park did nothing to quell her skittishness, and her thoughts ranged from wishing Tom would arrive so she could get the conversation over with and hoping that he wouldn’t show at all so the conversation need never happen. All too soon, or not soon enough, she caught sight of him making his way over to the bench. Once seated next to her, though not too close, they both sat watching the landscape before them in awkward silence. Liz resolved to keep her cool throughout the encounter to prevent any derailment of the topic at hand, and a sideways glance at Tom revealed him to be hard-eyed, jaw clenched as he waited for her to start talking.

 

“Tom, I-”

 

“The box isn’t what you think, Liz,” he began nervously. “Look... before we met... I ran with a bad crowd. I can’t tell you too much, but whatever you think it is I am, I’m not. I got out of it years ago and decided to turn myself around... so I became a teacher.”

 

“So I have nothing to do with it?” At his questioning look she elaborated. “I work for the FBI, Tom. A box filled with a gun, money and passports isn’t exactly something I should have in my house. Don’t you see why it’s so suspect? Why are you holding on to this stuff if it’s from a life you have nothing to do with anymore?”

 

“I was young and stupid, and I guess I didn’t want to put it in the trash... things have a nasty way of coming back to bite you in the ass that way.”

 

“I don’t even know if I can trust anything you say.”

 

“What about the future? _Our_ future, Liz?” She didn’t respond. “I got a call last night from April; she’s gone ahead with it.”

 

“What?”

 

“She said she wanted it to be a surprise – she’s giving us a baby, Liz.”

 

“What did you tell her?”

 

“Nothing; I don’t know what’s happening with us. It’s not like she can take it back now.”

 

“Fuck.” She heaved a sigh, the weight of the news settling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I... I can’t do it,” she said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“Can’t do what?”

 

“You, this, us; this complicates everything so much more.” She shook her head in disbelief at the turn of events.

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I... can’t trust you, Tom,” she stated carefully. “I don’t- I can’t be with you.”

 

He turned on the bench to face her. “What’re you saying? Like go on a break?”

 

She snorted in spite of herself. “Something a little more permanent than that,” she said. “You can keep the house, and-“

 

“A divorce? You’re talking about a _divorce_?” he questioned, voice rising. “What about April, huh? What about the mess you’re landing _her_ in? What about... _everything_ we have?”

 

She shook her head sadly at him. “I can’t trust that any of it is real. I can’t trust that _you_ are real, Tom. I just... can’t carry on like this.”

 

“You’d better call her then.” He looked a mixture of lost and agitated, fidgeting where he sat, emotions flitting across his face. “I’m... I’m gonna go,” he stated and stood, making to walk away before whirling around to face her again. “Can you at least think about this for a few days? Don’t throw it all away for something that isn’t relevant anymore.”

 

She nodded. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d already thought on it enough. Just then, an idea occurred to her. “The gun,” she stated.

 

“What?” he asked, confusion etched across his features.

 

“I need you to give me the gun from the box,” she clarified.

 

“Why?” he pressed.

 

“I’ll have it tested.”

 

“What for?”

 

“If it’s linked to any cases I can... I’ll have it destroyed,” she lied flawlessly. “And the passports,” she added as an afterthought. Ruminating on it later, she would be disturbed at how quickly things had deteriorated between them and at how easily she found herself lying to him; he felt like a stranger to her now.

 

He nodded, his expression one of relief. “You wanna come get it all now?” he asked.

 

“Sure.” She rose from the bench and began to walk toward Dembe.

 

“Uh, Liz?” Tom called and she turned to see him pointing in the opposite direction. “The car’s this way.”

 

“Mine’s over there,” she said, pointing out Dembe. Tom’s jaw clenched as he recognised the figure of Red’s bodyguard, but he nodded his understanding and continued to walk away from her.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz took a deep and calming breath, attempting to quiet the anxiety in her head, before she hit the dial button on her cell to call her friend. She had been gearing herself up for the conversation she was about to have, and her anxiety had only multiplied in the meantime. The silence of the line between each ring felt like it stretched on for minutes at a time before April finally picked up.

 

“Hi, April, it’s Liz,” she greeted, trying to sound bright.

 

“Yeah, I know, it feels like forever since I saw you last!”

 

“I know, he told me today.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“No, he couldn’t tell me sooner. It’s what I’m calling about, actually.”

 

“We’re, uh... we’re having problems... we’ve been having problems for a while now,” she admitted to her friend.

 

“I know, but what goes on behind closed doors is just that, know what I mean? Besides, it’d only bring everyone else down, or make things awkward socially if everybody knew.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“No, it’s pretty mutual,” she lied.

 

“It’s... it’s on the cards, yes.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I know it’s a big step, but I think... it just feels like we’ve run our course, and there’s no going back.”

 

“Nor did I. But enough about me; how are you?”

 

“How’s it all going?”

 

“Twelve weeks? Wow.”

 

“No sickness?”

 

“Lucky you!” she exclaimed positively.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“No.” She shook her head, despite the fact April couldn’t see her. “I don’t want to put you in that position. I need to finalise a few things, sort out a place for myself... but I want you to keep me in the loop, okay?”

 

“I know.”

 

“Yes, I know that’s what I’m saying... I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I still want to go ahead, if you’re happy to?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Look, I gotta go, but I’ll call you soon, okay?”

 

“Alright.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, I will. Bye now.”

 

Liz threw herself on to the couch after hanging up the call to April, who didn’t sound too impressed with the turn her marriage had taken. She knew that April had only wanted to go ahead with the pregnancy because it was for her and Tom, but circumstances meant that it just wasn’t possible for her to attempt a normal life with him; she couldn’t sweep what she’d found under the rug, and she was dreading the results once she put the casing and the bullet into Ballistics. She only saw one way of making the situation work, and that relied on Red being amiable to the idea; she would wait for him to return to the apartment to have the conversation, despite the fact all she wanted to do was call him and talk about it immediately.

 

* * *

 

 

Red had arrived home with dinner in tow – Lebanese cuisine – and proceeded to regale her with tales of his nefarious activities in Lebanon as they ate. She found she couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject of April as soon as she had hoped but, as their conversation waned, Red brought up Tom instead.

 

“You met with him today?”

 

She took a deep breath before she replied, steeling herself for the interrogation Red undoubtedly had lined up for her. “Yes.”

 

“How did he take the news of the divorce?”

 

“I think he was surprised,” she admitted. “But he didn’t explode at me at all. I’ve got the box now and I want everything in it tested. He, uh... he gave me some unexpected news though.”

 

“Which was?”

 

“Our friend, April, she’s pregnant.”

 

“Go on,” he encouraged.

 

“She wanted to surprise Tom and I with a baby.”

 

He was silent for a long time, steepled fingers brushing his lips as he processed what she was trying to tell him but couldn’t. Momentarily, he looked as though he was going to speak but instead picked up his wine glass and took a long, slow sip before he leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly with eyes closed.

 

“You’re thinking you can still take the child,” he stated eventually, opening his eyes to look at her.

 

“I am,” she affirmed. She would stand her ground on the subject.

 

“And what about the plan to disappear in Tuscany?” he asked quietly.

 

She shrugged. “It can still be the plan.”

 

He chuckled hollowly and shook his head, as though she was missing something. “When the time comes, I _will_ be going, Lizzie. I was under the impression you would be joining me; it’ll be a quiet journey without you.”

 

She wasn’t going to fall for his attempt to manipulate her into following his plans; nothing was set in stone for her, so she thought to try to reason with him. “Maybe later-“

 

“There may not be opportunity for ‘later’, Lizzie. Lives change; children are akin to a seismic shift. You may not want to move once you’ve settled into a routine.”

 

“Are you saying I shouldn’t? Or are you saying _you_ don’t want me to?”

 

“You will do what you think is the right thing to do, as you always have and as you should continue to do,” Red answered. “I am not accustomed to having dependents, particularly not small, pink, screaming ones; not for a long time, now,” he said, finishing the sentence in a mutter.

 

“So you don’t want any involvement,” Liz stated, keeping a level tone despite the rising irritation his reaction was causing her.

 

“I never said that,” he responded immediately.

 

“Well, what _are_ you saying, Red?” she demanded. “Can’t you be straight with me for once?”

 

He thought for a moment, formulating his response, weighing his words carefully. “Tell your friend you want to go ahead with the adoption without Tom. I’m sure the details will sort themselves out in the fullness of time,” he said, although his tone was noncommittal.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz hung up the phone to April. She felt completely conflicted; in six months she would be a mother... possibly a single mother at that. She had no idea how to interpret Red’s reaction to the news; he seemed closed off, unreachable, distracted. She wasn’t entirely convinced that it had everything to do with the looming adoption, and thought that something else had to be going on with the case against Number Nine. She texted Ressler with her suspicion, earning a response telling her ‘RR always up 2 something’, which was completely true, she mused. She resolved to speak to Dembe about Red’s strange mood on the way into work the following morning; she didn’t expect answers per se, but it was as good a starting point as any to get to the bottom of his odd demeanour.


	17. Chapter 17

Red had remained quiet since their conversation about April’s baby. Liz hoped it wasn’t an issue that would send their relationship South; he had seemed more than happy to accommodate her wish to adopt once they settled in Tuscany as per his ‘vision’ of retirement, and Liz found herself confused as to why she couldn’t travel to meet him once the child could make the journey.

 

Dembe was not particularly helpful in shedding any light on what Red was up to, though he did inform her that Red would be in Moscow for three days. Liz pointed out he would need to be chipped again before he left, to which Dembe chuckled and shook his head; she took his response to mean that Raymond Reddington does nothing he doesn’t want to do, which she knew all too well.

 

Once in the office she had pulled Ressler aside and told him of Red’s planned trip to Moscow and that he was still wandering around D.C. unchipped and unaccounted for. Ressler immediately went to Cooper who gave the order to bring Reddington in to receive another chip, funded by the FBI, this time on the other side of his neck. Liz was pleased that he would have the chip as a safety measure, and that she couldn’t lose him again; despite their current impasse, she didn’t want to throw it all away and go back to a professional relationship knowing that he planned to disappear. She resolved to talk to him about it again, and to keep her cool and take none of his shit – no games, just straight answers.

 

She didn’t see him when he was brought in to receive his second DARPA chip. She was holed up in the Ops Room with Ressler and the tech team, tracking Izzah Ahmedi and Andrei Balcescu; there wasn’t a whole lot to go on where the sadistic woman was concerned, but Balcescu was easily pinned down – he was spending money like it was water in Vegas.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz arrived back at Red’s apartment having taken a cab from work; there was no sign of him or of Dembe. Hudson lay on the rug in the lounge looking forlornly at the front door, even after she’d entered the space.

 

“You’ve got it bad,” she commented to the dog, rolling her eyes at him. She wandered into the kitchen to fix herself a glass of wine and saw a note pinned to the refrigerator door, Reddington’s distinctive writing scrawled in red ink:

 

‘From Russia, with love... R.

P.S. Dinner in fridge.’

 

With a small smile at the note she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Tupperware container labelled ‘Coq Au Vin’ and the half-finished bottle of chardonnay she had put in there the night before. She put the food in the microwave and set to pouring herself a generous glass of wine when her cell rang shrilly through the apartment; she dashed into the lounge and fished the phone out of her bag, checking the display to see it was Ressler calling before she answered.

 

“Keen.”

 

“Hi, it’s Ressler. Can I speak to Red?”

“He’s not here right now.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Moscow, I think. He’s left a note – he’s gone to Russia, Ressler, he’s not here.”

 

“The chip shows he’s in the apartment.”

 

“What? He’s not here.”

 

“Jesus,” Ressler barked down the line, “he’s done it again. Look for the chip - it’s in the building – and call me when you’ve found it.” Ressler hung up the call.

 

Liz heaved an agitated sigh and sat down on the couch. She wasn’t going to bother looking for the chip; if Ressler’s intel said it was in the apartment, then it probably was. She called Red and waited for him to pick up, her ire rising at his idiocy.

 

“Where the fuck are you?” she demanded before he could vocalise his usual sassy greeting.

 

“Did you not get my note?” he enquired innocently, though something about his voice sounded a little off.

 

“Are you _drunk_?” she asked, figuring he may be inebriated.

 

“It’s the morphine; it’ll wear off soon. It’s a little tricky to get those chips out.” He waited for her response but she found she couldn’t bring herself to formulate a sentence in the face of his blasé attitude. “Like the note you have _evidently_ overlooked stated, I am on my way to Russia and your dinner is in the fridge; please don’t let it go to waste.”

 

“I got your note,” she snapped, rising from the couch to fetch her wine from the kitchen, dinner forgotten. “It’s not safe for you to be travelling in your condition. What are you even-“

 

“It’s nearly been two minutes now, Lizzie, I can’t have you tracing this call. Dembe is here to look after me, so don’t worry yourself.”

 

She snorted indignantly. “Because _he’s_ never been kidnapped before.”

 

“I will be home in two days,” he informed her before he hung up the call. Irritated, Liz called Ressler back.

 

“What’s he doing?” Ressler asked.

 

“I don’t know,” she replied.

 

“Why has he gone without telling us?” he questioned.

 

“He never tells us, Donald, don’t be so dense.” As soon as the words left her mouth she knew Red was rubbing off on her a little too much and she sighed in frustration. “I really don’t know,” she maintained. “He could be in danger.”

 

“Danger is practically his middle name, Keen,” Ressler drawled. “Keep your head in the game.”

 

“Dembe is with him.”

 

 “Okay. You’re going to call Reddington again and confirm Dembe is actually there; tell him if backup is needed we can... I don’t know... sort something out for him.”

 

“In _Russia_?”

 

“Just _do it_ , Keen,” Ressler ordered tersely. “Message me when you’re done. I’m gonna call Cooper.” He hung up the call again.

 

Liz sat in the dim apartment with Hudson nuzzling at her hand. Absently, she scratched behind his ears as she brought up the number for Nick’s Pizza. Was Red planning something to get to Lacerta? Was Lacerta in Russia? Why would he put himself in that much danger? She wished he would just start working with the FBI rather than have them tag along two steps behind all the time for his own amusement. She wanted to be angry with him, but the overriding feeling she had was worry; he had taken off in an impaired state and, Dembe or no, had already impressed just how dangerous the people they were dealing with were. She hit the call button on the phone and Red answered after three rings.

 

“I need to confirm Dembe is there.”

 

“Say ‘Hey’, Dembe,” Red called happily, voice fading as he held the phone out.

 

“I am here, Liz,” Dembe’s voice confirmed once the phone had been passed to him. “I will not let anything happen to him.” The phone was hung up.

 

She sent a message to Ressler to confirm that Red was travelling with his aide. She threw her cellphone to the other end of the couch and pulled the throw that covered the back of the furniture over herself; it was going to be a long three days.

 

* * *

 

 

Her cellphone woke her from slumber, vibrating against her foot where it had landed. She had fallen asleep in an awkward position and winced as she scrambled to answer the call, pushing her tangled hair out of her face.

 

“Ressler?” she answered groggily, manoeuvring herself into a sitting position.

 

“Moving on so soon?” Red questioned, humour in his tone; she could practically hear his smirk.

 

“Contingency planning,” she responded and he chuckled down the phone.

 

“I thought you preferred brains over brawn?” he asked rhetorically and she noted he sounded much more coherent.

 

“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

 

“I beg to differ,” he half-muttered.

 

“Why are you calling me at,” she checked the time on her phone, “three in the morning?”

 

“I have news,” he announced. “We have implicated Lacerta’s go-to-guy in something rather... distasteful which will render him useless to our kingpin. Should make for an interesting news piece too.”

 

“So?”

 

“So there will be a position available, one I am more than qualified to fill.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You and I are going to flush him out,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself.

 

She frowned. “An inside job?”

 

“Aren’t they always, in one way or another?”

 

“For you maybe. So what’s the plan?”

 

“I’m on my way back to the airfield now – can’t hang around too long; Dembe will message you on our return and we will meet you at the Post Office.”

 

“Fine. I’ll see you at work.” After his goodbye she sent a message to Ressler with an update, not wanting to wake her cantankerous co-worker, and took herself off to her room to sleep in a more comfortable setting, Hudson padding along behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

The team were all assembled in the Ops Room of the FBI blacksite and had been there for a couple of hours, waiting for Red to show; Ressler looked pissed and Malik looked like she had better places to be as they stood around, checking over intel for the sake of having something to do. An hour later saw Raymond Reddington breezing into the Ops Room, two agents rushing after him with embarrassed expressions as they had quite evidently failed to exercise any authority over the notorious Concierge of Crime. He stood before the boards covered in information on Balcescu and Ahmedi and waited for everyone to take a seat. From her perch on the edge of one of the desks Liz noted that while his movements appeared fluid and alert, his eyes belied his tiredness from travelling.

“As you know, Number Nine on the Blacklist is more complex than any of the previous cases,” Red began his address, “I am working to make my services available to Lacerta.” This caused several of the agents to start muttering among themselves and Red waited for them to quieten before he continued. “This is an essential part of the plan to bring down all three at the same time.”

 

“Go on,” Cooper encouraged, clearly interested to hear what Red had planned. Despite their differences, the Assistant Director clearly respected Red’s tactical mind, not to mention the knowledge he possessed.

 

“You will move in on Izzah and Andrei at the same time – pick them off in one fell swoop. This will cause Lacerta to head underground rather swiftly. I will be facilitating his move to a safer location. There will be a high level of security, armed guards will be present, and the location itself will not be easily taken. This is important – I cannot be seen to make this easy for you. The man is clearly no idiot and you will do well to remember that. Think of it as a chess game; all the pieces must be in place before the final move. Something special will be needed to bring Lacerta in.”

 

“Are we talking Black Ops?” Agent Malik questioned, her brow creased in concentration as she worked out what Red was planning.

 

“Perhaps. This plan is currently an outline. Once I have an idea of where and when this ought to happen I will divulge further information.”

 

“We will need to know how many guards and points of entry there will be,” Cooper stated.

 

“I will tell you everything once the plan is in motion; if I have plans of the chosen location I will have them forwarded to you. On my go you will move your teams in on Ahmedi & Balcescu; under no circumstances are you to act without my signal.” Cooper nodded his understanding, appreciating the seriousness in Red’s tone. “I will be with Lacerta when this happens; he will turn to me in his hour of need and I will provide the means for him to disappear. A third team will be informed of the location I will take him to and you can take it from there.”

 

“On one condition,” Cooper said.

 

“And what might that be?” Red asked politely, cocking his head to one side as he regarded the Assistant Director, a sardonic smirk on his lips.

 

“Another DARPA chip. And this one does not come out.”

 

Red chuckled darkly before responding. “Your wish is my command, Harold; although where you’re going to put it is another matter entirely.” He gestured to his newly injured shoulder.

 

“I’ll call the surgeon,” Ressler piped up and Cooper nodded his assent, paying no mind to Red’s attitude. Ressler left the Ops Room, eyeing Red with disapproval.

 

“How long until you can infiltrate Lacerta’s inner circle?” Meera asked.

 

“My people are working on making contact as we speak. Give me until the end of the week,” Red answered. Meera nodded and looked to Cooper who also nodded his agreement with Red’s timescale.

 

“We will set to work arranging the three teams and continue surveillance on Ahmedi and Balcescu in the meantime,” Cooper stated.

 

“Just be invisible,” Red advised. “You really can’t afford to make schoolboy errors on this one, Harold.” The two men regarded each other and a tension built in the room, almost tangible; Cooper looked as though he was going to respond but remained silent. Red’s face relaxed and lost its seriousness. “Now, if we’re all done here, I need to find myself a new hat to mark the occasion.” He breezed out of the Ops Room with the same two agents scrambling to follow and escort him to his car.

 

Liz sighed. She had remained quiet throughout Red’s briefing of the team, unimpressed that he was putting himself and three teams of agents in danger again, although she knew there was really no alternative way to tackle the situation. Still, it could go wrong in so many ways – too many – and the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her.

 

“Agent Keen,” Cooper’s voice disturbed her from her train of thought, “is everything alright?” She started to nod but found herself changing the movement to shaking her head a little. “Would you like to talk about it somewhere more private?”

 

“It’s nothing, Sir,” she attempted to assure her superior, “just some... problems at home.”

 

“Those are rarely nothing,” Cooper replied, concern etched across his face. “If you need to take a couple of days, then do. I need your head in the right place when Reddington’s plan is set in motion. How is everything in his building?”

 

“It’s become a safe haven for me,” she admitted, though neglected to specify that it was Red’s apartment she had been staying in. “Otherwise it’s been pretty quiet. Red doesn’t entertain too much,” she said, keeping a straight face, “and he mainly seems to read, listen to his records, cook, and hide from my dog.”

 

“Your dog?”

 

“Hudson’s taken a liking to him,” she admitted.

 

Cooper looked confused. “Are things with your husband that b-“

 

“I’ve filed for divorce,” she blurted.

 

“I see.” He nodded slowly in understanding.

 

“Irreconcilable differences,” she offered by way of explanation before attempting to excuse herself.

 

“Agent Keen,” Cooper called. She paused on her way to the door and turned to face him. “I don’t want to see you here until Thursday,” he stated, “and that’s an order.” She opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it and nodded her understanding instead; she could do with a few days to get her head straight. She fished her cellphone out of her bag while she waited for the elevator and called Red.

 

“Are you still on site?” she asked when he picked up.

 

“I’ve just got in the car,” he confirmed. “Those two were like groupies,” he said of the two agents still watching him in the car.

 

“I’m coming with you,” she stated before hanging up and getting into the elevator. She punched the button to take her to the subterranean car park, hoping he would wait for her. Sure enough, the sleek black sedan sat just beyond the elevator doors, Dembe holding the rear driver’s side door open for her; with a grateful smile to the dark man she slid on to the leather seat and sighed as the door closed with a soft thud.

 

“Well, don’t you look the picture of happiness,” Red remarked from the seat next to her. She turned her head and fixed him with a look that told him not to push her. Wisely, he said nothing but raised his eyebrows before slouching further into his own seat, relishing the warmth of the heated seats. “Take us to Wisdom, Dembe.”

 

“I thought you wanted to go hat shopping? Is this another contact?”

 

“No, you look like you could do with a drink; if you’ve not been sent to keep an eye on me, that is.”

 

“I’ve been sent home.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Cooper thinks I’m distracted.”

 

“You are,” Red agreed. “When are you due back?”

 

“Thursday,” she said sullenly. “I guess I could do with the time, but the acknowledgement makes me feel...”

 

“Weak?” he supplied and she nodded. “It doesn’t make you weak at all, Lizzie. You’re more than entitled to a little time to take stock and regroup.”

 

“I guess,” she responded noncommittally, not really wanting to talk about it further. She was surprised when Red’s hand enclosed around hers on the middle seat, squeezing gently in reassurance; much as they were ‘seeing each other’ or whatever it was that they had going on, he wasn’t one for affectionate displays outside of the apartment unless they served some higher purpose. “How far is the bar?” she asked.

 

“About ten minutes.”

 

“And hat shopping after?”

 

“If you feel up to it.”

 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dembe advised Liz jokingly. She smiled.

 

“I do like a challenge,” she admitted and both men chuckled in agreement.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived at Wisdom, where Red expressed his delight at finding the place fairly quiet, and they sat in a booth with a bottle of wine between them.

 

“So you’ve officially filed for the divorce?” Red asked, starting the conversation off with a topic she wasn’t overly keen on discussing.

 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m just waiting on the paperwork to come through. Tom seems to be accepting the fact now, and I need to pick up a few things from the house.”

 

“You need only ask and I can make a call to have the whole process sped up.”

 

“I appreciate the offer, but I think this should all be done above board.”

 

“Well, my offer stands.” He sipped at his wine. “Have you heard from April?”

 

“I’m meeting with her this week. She wants to talk about some of the classes she’s taking; as her birthing partner I need to go to them too.” He said nothing in response. “I am sure I want to do this, Red. I need you to understand that I’ve made up my mind and I’m not changing that.” He nodded, but still remained quiet.

 

“You’ll make a fine mother, Lizzie,” Red assured, voice low.

 

“Yeah, well... we’ll see about that,” she mumbled, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. Silence fell between them and Liz felt awkward as the weight of the many questions she wanted to ask him, and the answers he knew he needed to provide but would not for whatever reason, hung between them.

 

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly. She smiled, pleased that he did not start needling her about her decision and instead seemed to accept it.

 

“Unbelievably.” She nodded. “In less than six months she’ll be here.”

 

A raised brow. “ _She_?”

 

Liz raised her eyes to meet his and nodded slightly, her smile not leaving her face. “April told me yesterday.”

 

Red sighed. “Well, well...”

 

“ _Well_ , what?”

 

“Just thinking.”

 

“What?” she asked, irritated that he was dragging whatever he wanted to say out.

 

“Will she want my old hats? They’re not particularly feminine. Though I suppose with some of the fashion choices of youngsters these days, they could be-”

 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Liz cut him off, stunned by what she heard.

 

He remained silent for a time, appearing to think his words over, and he reached across the table to take her hand. “I may have been a little quick to react,” he began slowly. “I’ve been doing some thinking of my own, Lizzie.” He traced her fingers with his own, his eyes following the movement of his digits. “Perhaps I can arrange to stay in the country until you can leave... if you still want to?”

 

She watched as he determinedly kept his own eyes on their hands, his unguarded expression revealing a hint of worry about her reaction to his admission; he was clearly bothered by the idea of her not going with him when the time came, and she was touched by that realisation. She had no idea how to respond to his words, no sentence she composed in her head would do her feelings justice; she felt as though she might burst, she wanted to hoot and holler, she wanted – needed – to respond to him before he thought his words weren’t good enough. With no words to express herself, and giving up on her quest to find them, she flung herself across the booth, grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him soundly, apparently stunning him so much that it took him more than a few seconds to respond in kind. They broke apart after a time and regarded each other, eyes shining with hope and lips quirked in sheepish smiles as they caught their breath.

 

“I think you have enough hats,” she told him, her hand squeezing his knee. “Let’s go home.”


	18. Chapter 18

Liz woke slowly and took a few moments to relish the warmth of the man spooned behind her; his arm tightened around her waist and she knew he was awake and had likely been so for some time.

 

“Good morning,” his voice rumbled behind her ear.

 

“Morning,” she greeted sleepily, a small smile playing about her features. She turned in his arms to face him. “What time is it?”

 

“Just past nine.”

 

“We should get up.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Hudson needs to be fed and walked. Oh, and you need to go put yourself in unspeakable danger again.”

 

“It can wait,” he said, drawing her across the bed with him as he rolled on to his back.

 

“No, it can’t,” she insisted, giving him a playful tap on the chest before she rolled away from him and got out of bed, laughing softly at the pout he gave her. She took his silk robe and slipped it on before she headed for the bathroom, though Red’s appreciative gaze before she covered herself did not escape her.

 

She showered quickly and moved into her room – the guest bedroom – to pick out her clothes for the day and dress. She meandered into the kitchen to feed Hudson, who whined excitedly at her and sat obediently as she opened the can of dog food and emptied it into his bowl; before the bowl had hit the ground he already had his head in it, eating voraciously. Red sat at the kitchen table with a plate of toast and a mug of coffee; he had fixed her a cup too and she sat with him, sipping quietly at her coffee and reading the other side of the newspaper he held until Hudson had finished eating. She grabbed the dog’s lead and headed out with Hudson, stopping only to swipe a slice of Red’s buttery toast on her way out.

 

* * *

 

As she walked through the park she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She tossed the well-chewed tennis ball for Hudson again and discreetly scanned the landscape of the park, eyes seeking out anything that looked out of place; a woman sat on a bench, quite openly watching her, and she felt her blood run cold when the woman rose from her seat and walked toward her purposefully. Liz’s stance became defensive and she kept her eyes trained on the woman, on her hands.

 

“Agent Keen?” the woman asked, waiting for confirmation. She didn’t look like she was some sort of hardened criminal; her eyes were uncertain and her body language belied her nervousness.

 

“Yes,” Liz confirmed, though said nothing further.

 

“You need to see this.” The woman rummaged in her bag and Liz wished she had her gun on her; she released the breath she’d been holding when the woman pulled a manila envelope out of the bag instead of a firearm. “Please,” she held the envelope out to Liz, “take it.” Uncertain, Liz took the envelope and saw it had an FBI seal on it; she frowned and looked to the woman questioningly. “Just read it when you’re somewhere safe. You can trust me.”

 

“I don’t even know who you are. Are you with the Bureau? What are you doing with this document?”

 

“I can’t answer your questions. Please believe me when I say you can trust me and the source of the information. I need to leave – don’t follow me, please.” The woman turned and walked back down the path; Liz watched her disappear from view and found herself torn between rushing back to the apartment or following the woman. Unsure of what to make of the bizarre encounter, Liz decided to head back to the apartment and called Hudson back to her, the envelope folded and stuffed into her coat pocket.

 

* * *

 

She returned to the apartment building, overheating in all the layers she wore as she had walked quickly, and entered her own apartment on the ground floor – in the time she had been in the building she had only ever visited what was supposed to be her permanent residence a handful of times – and pulled the envelope from her pocket. She removed her winter coat and tossed it on the small couch in the sitting room before she sat and opened the envelope, breaking the FBI seal and pulling out the documents contained inside.

 

It was a single file, with a plain cover. She opened the document to the first page and her hand immediately flew to cover her mouth as she read the first paragraph; it was about Red... the deal he had struck with the FBI for his immunity was bogus. They were humouring him. Once he was finished with the Blacklist they planned to remand him and bring him to face all charges. A quick glance at the following two pages listed each of the charges he would be facing.

Her eyes scanned the document repeatedly, and with shaking hands she lifted the first page to see the list of crimes that he would be held accountable for; it was a list she was familiar with, but the reality of his situation shook her. This changed everything. She couldn’t possibly expect him to remain in the country after Number Nine, not now. She would need to show him the document... but what if it was an elaborate trap for her? What if this was down to Ressler, or even Cooper? She had to speak with Red about it, to let him know he needed to run.

 

Fighting to control her emotions, Liz exited her apartment and punched the call button for the elevator, foot tapping nervously on the floor, disturbing Hudson who could sense her discomfort. The elevator ride seemed to take forever and she strode purposefully to the front doors of Red’s apartment as soon as she could fit between the opening elevator doors, fumbling with her keys before she managed to let herself in.

 

“Red!” she called out, tossing her keys on to the console table and dropping her bag on the floor before stooping to let Hudson off his lead. When there came no response from Red she leaned down to Hudson once more. “Go find him, boy!” Hudson excitedly bounded down the hall and into Red’s room; the dog’s bark was followed by a shout of exclamation and she figured that Red had been dozing – he did want a lazy day after all.

 

“Out, Hudson,” she heard him order and smiled to herself sadly at the thought that the apartment and their domestic life could be ending sooner than she thought. Red trudged into the hallway wearing his red silk robe and pyjama pants, guiding Hudson by the collar back down the hall; he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the expression on her face. “What’s happened?” he asked evenly, letting go of the dog and standing straight.

 

“You need to see this,” she said, holding the file out to him. He approached and took the envelope, studying the seal before pulling the documents out; he moved to sit on the couch and picked his glasses up from the coffee table, settling them halfway down his nose as he started to read. Liz perched next to him on the couch and watched as his eyes scanned the document, nervously awaiting his reaction. He flipped through the other pages and re-read the first page before he closed the file and placed it on the coffee table; he removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes before he tossed them to the table also. He sat quietly for a long moment, and Liz swore she could hear the cogs turning in his head as he processed the information and worked out what his course of action should be. He placed his hand over her clasped ones, at which point she realised she was shaking.

 

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

 

“Possibly everything, but it’s just as likely that it changes nothing,” he replied firmly, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. “I will need to make some plans.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you still wish to come with me?” he asked.

 

“That might complicate matters further,” she said.

 

“It undoubtedly will,” he confirmed.

 

“You need to run, Red. Make sure you keep safe and hide for as long as you need to,” she insisted, surprised when he smiled and shook his head. She thought he would have been more rattled by the document than he appeared to be.

 

“Who gave you the file?” he asked softly.

 

“She didn’t give her name.”

 

“Was she FBI?” She shook her head.

 

“I don’t know. I didn’t recognise her.”

 

“This could be a trap... for both of us,” he said, seeming to voice his thoughts more than speak to her.

 

“I know.”

 

“Then for now we will continue to focus on Number Nine. I will have Luli check for the source of this,” he gestured to the folder. “We continue as normal until the source is confirmed.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“If I get so much as a whiff of Harold acting underhandedly I shall rely on my contingency plans and be out of the country before they can mobilise a single unit against me.”

 

“You’ll disappear,” she stated.

 

“Until it is safe for me to resurface, yes,” he confirmed.

 

“What about me?” she asked, not sure that she wanted to hear his answer – while he could make it work, he could just as easily call the whole thing off and say it was for her own safety, and she couldn’t deal with that.

 

“It won’t be an entirely impossible situation, Lizzie. It may take some time, but I will send for you when the situation calms.” They sat in silence. “But let’s not dwell on this; I have a job interview to prepare for.”

 

“You want me to pack you a lunch?” she asked quietly, attempting to lighten the mood. She trusted his judgement but couldn’t help thinking he wasn’t taking the document seriously enough. He chuckled and rose from the couch, relinquishing her hands.

 

“I doubt I’ll have time for lunch,” he replied before excusing himself to the bathroom for a shower.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Navy or grey?” Red asked, holding two suits up against him.

 

“Umm...” her eyes flicked between the two choices he presented her with, “navy.”

 

“You think so?” he asked, holding the hanger out and looking at the suit.

 

“If you want to wear the grey, then wear the grey,” she laughed, moving out of his line of vision and into the kitchen, “don’t ask me if you’ve already decided!” she called.

 

“Navy it is,” he said with a nod before he disappeared back into the bedroom. He emerged shortly after, immaculately dressed, and plucked his navy fedora from its perch on the coat stand along with a light mac. “I shouldn’t be late back,” he assured, giving her a peck on the forehead before he left the apartment.

 

Alone with her thoughts again, Liz found her eyes drawn to the file on the coffee table. Impatient for answers she hurried into Red’s room and rifled through his bedside drawer for the little address book she knew he kept in there. Once she had the book she found Luli’s number and called her from the disposable phone he kept with the book.

 

“Raymond,” Luli answered in a playful tone.

 

“No, it’s Liz.”

 

“Oh.” A pause. “How did you get this number?”

 

“I have Red’s phonebook. Look, I’ve got something that may mean Red is in danger – my gut is telling me it’s legit, but he’s not taking it as a serious threat. Do you think you can come to the apartment and take a look?”

 

“If he doesn’t think it’s a problem, then-“

 

“Luli,” Liz cut her off, “please.”

 

“I’ll be over in an hour,” Luli said after a beat, sounding a little put out.

 

“Thank you,” Liz said with a grateful sigh, but Luli had already hung up the call.

 

 

* * *

 

 

True to her word Luli had shown up at the apartment building an hour after Liz called. She breezed into the apartment, the picture of elegance and grace with a dangerous edge; if Liz didn’t know better she would have been envious of the other woman’s effortless style.

 

“Is this the file?” Luli asked, picked the folder up and flipping it open without waiting for an answer. She scanned the information quickly, Liz watching her quietly. “If it’s a fake it’s a good one,” Luli announced suddenly, eyes still fixed on the first page of the document. “If it’s legit then I need to make arrangements for Raymond’s swift departure from the States.”

 

“What’s your gut feeling?” Liz asked, squaring her jaw; she didn’t like the inference in Luli’s tone that Red would just up and leave and that would be it, that he would not make plans for her to join him. Liz considered that she should have waited for Red to contact Luli later as he might have instructed her differently and brought her up to speed with their relationship.

 

“I’m undecided. When will Raymond be back?” Liz didn’t like the emphasis Luli put on Red’s first name either; it felt like she was trying to make a point, which would be moot at any rate as Liz knew she could quite freely call him Raymond if she wanted to, but she knew him as Red more than Raymond.

 

“Later,” Liz answered, “he’s ‘interviewing’ with Lacerta’s people.”

 

“I know.” Luli sighed. “If he hadn’t been so hell-bent on this Blacklist thing, everything would be so much easier,” she admitted. Liz found she wasn’t sure how to respond to her, having never really conversed with Red’s assistant before; if anything she had resolved to keep the woman at arms-length – she didn’t trust her in the sense that she might use anything she said against her at a later date, and while Liz had no evidence to suggest that Luli _would_ do that, she didn’t want to take the chance.

 

“How so?”

 

“It was more fun and less worry.”

 

“He mentioned retirement,” Liz said.

 

“He’s said he’s going to retire so many times, and has done a couple of times... but I think he gets bored with it,” Luli responded, though noticed Liz’s crestfallen expression. “But he was on his own then; maybe having company will change that. I assume he _is_ taking you with him?”

 

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

 

“Risky, very risky. He _would_ have to choose an FBI agent to fall for.”

 

“He’s told you he loves me?”

 

“It’s written all over his face when he talks about you, Liz. He smiles more, and he’s been a little distracted lately... not to mention the fact he doesn’t come out to play anymore.” At her last point Luli gave a pout, though Liz saw that she meant it in jest and seemed to be happy for Red in truth.

 

“Distracted?” Liz echoed, a little concerned that she was the cause of something that could potentially spell even greater danger for Red if he wasn’t able to focus at a crucial moment.

 

“Yeah. I’ve pulled him up on it – as has Dembe – and he seems to have his head back in the game now. So you’re sure about this?”

 

“Yes,” Liz answered with certainty.

 

“To up and leave, just like that?” Luli clearly thought that Liz hadn’t taken the time to consider the implications of a life with Raymond Reddington

 

“I don’t have a lot to stay for, Luli.”

 

“You need to be sure about it, Liz. I won’t stand to see him hurt; his heart is not a toy.”

 

“I don’t want to see him hurt, either.”

 

“Just be sure,” Luli repeated with a meaningful look, clearly implying that if Liz were to hurt Red she would have her to deal with. “Okay,” Luli broke the silence that was building around them, “I’m going to take this to one of our trusted contacts to see if this needs to be worried about. You sit tight, and ask Raymond to call me when he returns.”

 

“Okay. Thanks for doing this, Luli,” Liz said quietly. Luli nodded her understanding and let herself out of the apartment.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Red returned home just after ten, closing the front doors quietly. Liz watched from the couch as he shrugged out of his coat and deposited it on the stand by the door; each movement he made was precise, even when removing his hat which was also hung on the stand, no energy was wasted on unnecessary movement.

“How’d it go?” she queried, moving along on the couch to make room for him.

 

“Entirely according to plan,” he stated, looking rather pleased with himself. He moved to the couch and sat down next to her to remove his shoes. Once his feet were free he leaned back on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table, stretching his toes in the confines of his black socks. He had his eyes closed and seemed to be thankful for the quiet of the apartment. She watched him unwind with a small smile.

 

“And how was your day?” he asked casually, his eyes remaining closed as he moved his arm to encircle her shoulders and pull her to him.

 

“It was... interesting,” she replied, unsure how he would take the news that she took matters into her own hands with the file.

 

“How so?” he questioned, opening one eye to regard her curiously.

 

“I called Luli,” she confessed quietly into his shoulder. She felt his deep sigh more than she heard it.

 

“And why did you do that?” he questioned.

“I couldn’t wait for you to come back. I needed to follow up on the file,” she admitted, hoping he would understand her need for information on the mystery document.

 

“And what did she say?” he pressed.

 

“She couldn’t tell whether it was a fake or not. She’s taken the file to one of your contacts to be checked.”

 

“Did she say who?” he asked, thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose; she noted that he looked tired, the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced, and she realised he had probably had more of a tough day than he wanted to let on.

 

“No, but she said you need to call her.”

 

“I’ll do it in the morning,” he said, settling back into the couch.

 

“She said to call when you got home.” She pulled away from him and rose from her seat, only to have Hudson jump up and take her place next to Red, resting his head on his thigh and looking up at him with sad eyes; Red opened his eyes to look down at Hudson for a moment before he cracked a smile and scratched him behind the ears. “I’m going to head to bed; I’ll leave you to call her,” Liz said, loath to leave the sight of the two of them but knowing that if she left him alone he would make the call to Luli. Red nodded, his features thoughtful.

 

“Goodnight, Lizzie,” he said with a small smile at her; she returned his smile and left to prepare herself for bed, listening for any sound of movement in the lounge until she heard him greet Luli and she allowed herself to relax a little, knowing that between herself and his pretty assistant he was in safe hands regardless of whether the document was a fake or not.


	19. Chapter 19

“So, you’ve signed the papers?” April asked over her steaming mug of hot chocolate, munching on a marshmallow.

 

“Yeah, this morning,” Liz confirmed, hands wrapped around her own mug of cappuccino. “I got a message from Tom to say he’s signing tonight.”

 

“Wow. So it’s official.”

 

“Yup. I’m on my way to being a divorcee,” Liz stated, the words coming out of her mouth providing a heavy dose of reality.

“How’s Tom taking it?”

 

“He seems accepting. He was angry at first, but now he’s had time to think on it he seems to agree that it’s time we part ways.”

“I’m still in a little bit of shock over the whole thing, Liz,” April informed her. “I mean, none of us had any idea you two were having problems.”

“Yeah, well,” Liz shrugged, not really knowing what to say, “you know us.”

“I do,” April nodded, “which is why I’m surprised you were having problems at all!”

“Oh, stop it. We just ran our course, I guess.”

“Well, I think you’re being very strong.”

“I need to be,” Liz said determinedly, “especially with this little one on the way! Not to mention all these classes.”

April rolled her eyes. “That class was _so_ boring!”

Liz breathed a theatrical sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you said that first!”

 

“That woman is going to make me paranoid about my breathing all the time, seriously.”

 

“I’m not even pregnant and I’m still thinking about my breathing.”

As the two friends fell into companionable silence and sipped at their drinks, Liz found her thoughts wandering to Red and what would happen once they were out of the States; she wondered if they’d be living life on the run for a time, or if it would be a smooth transition from one life to another. A change of identity, perhaps a few alterations to their appearances would be needed, and they could possibly be soaking up the sun in Tuscany. She wondered what it would be like to bring a child up in a foreign country; she herself would be struggling with the language, but she had no doubt Red would insist on the child being multi-lingual and considered that would involve hearing him speak some of the many languages he knew, as listed in the FBI file on him–

“Who is he?” April asked out of the blue, snapping Liz back to the present.

 

“What?” Liz questioned back, unaware she had become so lost in her thoughts about Red.

 

“You’re staring into space with a very specific look on your face,” her friend said sagely.

 

“What look?” Her mind frantically scrambled to find some way to excuse her lack of attention.

 

“The one that says as much as you’re enjoying my company, you’d much rather be somewhere else with somebody else... and you look a little worried. It’s the same look you had when Tom broke his foot a couple of years back while we were away for Annie’s thirtieth and we had that four hour layover in Houston. You were sitting in the departure lounge working out whether or not taking a Greyhound would be quicker with that exact look on your face.”

“So I definitely have a look?”

 

“Uh huh,” April nodded. “So spill; come on, who is he?”

 

Liz sighed. “Nobody you know.”

 

April laughed. “I hope not! All the guys I know have _far_ too much baggage.”

 

“Oh, he’s got a fair amount of baggage,” Liz replied quietly. Although she knew she was treading a very thin line, she couldn’t help the sly smile creeping across her face as the conversation turned to Red.

“Is he good to you?” April asked, sipping at her hot chocolate.

Liz sighed, figuring that she might as well jump into the conversation feet first – anything less and the perceptive April would see straight through her. “Beyond good.”

“Really? And the sex?” April asked with eyes hungry for gossip. Liz feigned a scandalised gasp before dissolving into a fit of giggles with her long-time friend. “Come on!” April pressed. “I am carrying your baby. Your sex life is my sex life right now – I need details, Liz!”

“The sex is... all fireworks.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out between you, send him my way; I’ll be doing my pelvic floor exercises in preparation.”

“Not a chance,” Liz managed to reply before bursting out laughing at April’s words; she really was one of the funniest people she knew. April joined her in her laughter and the pair soon had tears running from their eyes. After a time they managed to rein themselves in and April turned a little more serious as she pursued her line of questioning once more.

 

“So I’m guessing he knows about the pitter-patter of tiny feet that will soon be monopolising your time?”

“Yes, and he’s... adjusting to the idea,” Liz replied carefully.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Okay.” She did; the doubts she had were not for Red’s feelings but for the situation they found themselves in with Number Nine and the mysterious file. “He’s accepting of it, he’s just had to rearrange some of his plans.”

“Plans?”

“He wanted to travel. I told him he could still go and I’d still be here, but he’s decided to stay I think.” Liz considered that half-truths were far easier than outright lies.

“Oh, Liz, that’s so sweet.” April began to tear up and reached into her bag for a tissue. “Damn hormones.” She blew her nose and composed herself. “So what’s his name?”

“David. David Norton,” Liz replied smoothly, silently congratulating herself on remembering the false name he used in Edison; Red was quite clearly rubbing off on her if she wasn’t thinking twice about lying to her best friend.

“Liz Norton,” April said, trying out the name.

 

“April! I’ve not even got out of my marriage to Tom yet! Don’t suggest I’m about to jump into another one!”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“So tell me more about this David guy.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you meet?”

 

“At work.”

 

“Ah, office romance?”

“No, I met him while I was on a job, you could say.”

 

“Coffee shop romance, then?”

 

“If you like.”

“What does he look like?”

“ _Always_ well-dressed,” Liz rolled her eyes, “I don’t think he’d be seen dead in sweatpants. Let me see... medium height, blue eyes, handsome face... not a whole lot of hair.”

“Bald?”

“Um... receding? He keeps it pretty short.”

“How old is this guy?”

“Fifty three.”

“A silver fox! You sly thing. No wonder the sex is good – he’s had plenty of practice!”

“I prefer not to think on that.”

“Are you jealous?”

Liz blushed furiously, embarassed at being caught out. “No, I just– ”

“You so are!" April laughed. "Have you met any of his exes?”

 

“Just one.”

 

“Is she a threat?”

 

“I thought so, but now I think she’s just looking out for him. It was a casual thing between them, as far as I can tell; she works for him.”

“Sexy secretary?” April waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Liz snorted. “More of a frequently underdressed accountant.”

“So how long have you been... y’know... ‘doing the do’?”

Liz barked a laugh. “Long enough.”

“I should be admonishing you as I do count Tom as a friend still, but this David has put a twinkle in your eye that I haven’t seen for a long time so I shouldn’t really be complaining.”

“I guess he makes me happy, and while he was there when things with Tom went South he wasn’t the reason they went that way.”

“As long as he’s in it for the long haul.”

 

“He seems to play the long game, whatever he’s doing.”

 

“As long as he’s got you in his game plan then I’m sure it’ll be fine. You and ‘Bump’, actually.”

 

“Oh, ‘Bump’ is going to be at the forefront of his mind. He already wants to give her his hats–”

“If you don’t send me pictures of this baby in that man’s hats, I will be so disappointed.”

“Me too.”

“So have you thought about names, or is it going to be ‘Bump Norton’?”

“Oh god, not yet! I’ve been so busy trying to tie everything up with work.”

“Maybe you should ask David for some suggestions? If he’s said he wants to be involved, then you really ought to start involving him in some of the important decisions,” April pointed out, and Liz suddenly felt the weight of her situation bear down on her; on the one hand, her dream of having a family seemed to be coming true, but on the other hand it could be ripped away from her if Lacerta wasn’t apprehended and Red wasn’t able to ensure their safe departure to somewhere nobody would ever find them. With a forced smile that she hoped showed enthusiasm for picking out baby names, Liz made her excuses and left her best friend in the small coffee shop.

* * *

 

Liz let herself into the apartment and tossed her keys on to the console table, petting Hudson as he excitedly greeted her. Red was out, as he had said he would be for most of the day, most likely carefully constructing his faux contingency plans for Lacerta’s escape. In the silence of the lounge she realised it was the worst possible week to take time out of work.

“They must be going batshit in the office,” she said aloud to herself, wanting to be in the thick of it with her co-workers. She kicked off her sneakers and sank into the welcoming softness of the couch, tucking her feet under herself and resigning herself to Hudson joining her. She idly scratched behind his ears as her thoughts wandered; she was impatient for answers from Luli about the mysterious ‘FBI’ file – the more she thought on it the more she found herself worried for Red and for herself, for the future they had just started to tentatively plan.

 

The front door bursting open and Hudson’s answering bark announced Red’s sudden return; he breezed through the apartment, eyes fixed on the screen of his phone, clearly so lost in what he was doing as he strode to the bedroom that he didn’t even notice Liz on the couch until he returned to the lounge with his overnight bag. He stopped dead in his tracks, affecting a nonchalant stance, but she knew him well enough by now to have caught the brief flicker of surprise on his face.

 

“Out tonight?” she asked, though it was mostly rhetorical.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I have more work to do; another contact to meet.”

 

“Oh. I was hoping we could get takeout or something.”

 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

 

“I can’t come with you?”

 

“You’ll be more bored stuck in a hotel room all night than you are here. I’ll be back late tomorrow morning.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve no intention of digging another chip out of my neck and your team are all aware of the meeting, so don’t fret.”

 

“What if somebody else does?”

 

“Then we will have more to worry about that a spot of impromptu surgery.”

 

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going?”

 

He shook his head. “Not far.” He cocked his head to one side and regarded her for a moment. “What’s on your mind, Lizzie?”

 

“I think what isn’t on my mind would be a shorter list right now,” she said, rolling her eyes at herself.

 

“Get yourself some takeout, open a bottle of wine and take a long bath,” he recommended.

 

“Doctor’s orders?”

 

“Indeed.” He crossed over to her and planted a chaste kiss on her temple before making his way to the apartment door. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done – this really is an important meeting.” He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her with sympathetic eyes. “Have a little faith in your colleagues, Lizzie,” he implored softly.

 

Liz snorted. “Well, haven’t you changed your tune?”

 

“I prefer to be the only one throwing banana peel at Donald’s feet.” He flashed her a small smile before disappearing from the doorway completely.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz wandered from the bathroom into the bedroom, wearing nothing but the red silk robe, and settled herself under the covers. The combination of a bellyful of chow mein, most of a bottle of chardonnay and a hot bath had left her well and truly ready to sleep; she was so drowsy she couldn’t bring herself to shoo Hudson from Red’s side of the bed. She had followed Red’s advice and found that she had managed to unwind more than she’d allowed herself to for years, and felt her spirits lift a little. For all that was going on, the whirlwind that had become her life, she had absolute faith in Red’s ability to think on his feet; she drifted to sleep in the knowledge that, whatever happened with Number Nine or the mysterious ‘FBI’ file, he would ensure the best possible outcome for himself and, by proxy it seemed, her also.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz awoke in pitch darkness to the shrill ringing of her cellphone on the bedside cabinet. Groggily, she answered. It was Dembe, he was outside the apartment door. Hurriedly, she slipped out of the bed and wrapped the robe around her before moving through the apartment to let him in, turning on lights as she went. When she opened the door she immediately knew something was wrong by the expression he wore.

 

“What’s happened?” she mumbled, stepping aside to let him into the apartment.

 

“Your apartment on the ground floor has been broken into,” he stated, turning to check the lock on the door.

 

“What?” she questioned, the news waking her completely. “By who?”

 

“I do not know,” he said, “but they were looking for you, I believe.”

 

“What makes you think so?” she asked, thinking over his words.

 

“ _They_ said so.”

 

“How many of them were there?”

 

“Three, from what I heard,” he responded. She was glad for his position on the ground floor, his apartment door opposite her own; clearly a strategic location to ensure Red remained undisturbed in his own space.

 

“And they want me?” she asked, wanting to confirm exactly what was going on.

 

“I can’t see that they’ve taken anything,” Dembe reasoned.

 

“There’s not a whole lot to take in that apartment,” she pointed out. “I keep most of my stuff up here.”

 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to remain here to ensure your safety. Mr Reddington–”

 

“You _can_ call him by his name in front of me, Dembe.”

 

“Raymond would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

 

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

 

“It is possible,” Dembe admitted. “Your apartment does not look like you have ever lived there and your car is still outside. If they have been watching the building they will know you are still inside.”

 

“I think I’d feel better if you did stay, then,” she admitted, feeling slightly sick to her stomach at the idea she was being targeted by somebody. Was it because of Red? “Do you think it’s something to do with Lacerta?”

 

“No, I heard from Raymond an hour ago,” Dembe answered firmly, which reassured her somewhat. “Go back to bed, Liz. I will stay in here,” he assured.

 

“I’ll keep Hudson in with me. He’s no guard dog, but he’ll valiantly attempt to lick any intruders into submission, I’ve no doubt,” she joked, attempting to lighten the mood if only for her own benefit.

 

Dembe barked a laugh. “It is always good to have a Plan B,” he agreed. Liz chuckled and bade him goodnight before returning to the sanctity of Red’s bedroom – their bedroom, really – and burrowed under the covers, pulling his pillow to her and hugging it tightly; the scent of him calmed her rising anxiety and she soon found herself drifting back to sleep, confident in Dembe’s ability to protect her in Red’s absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there will be a short break between here and Chapter 20. I have my little project for the Blacklist Secret Santa to work on before I continue with this fic. 
> 
> Thank you to everybody who has been reading; it's really been a joy to see so many people are enjoying this fic. Please remember to leave a comment - I love to know what you think and where you want to see this go (aside from 'straight to Tuscany') - your comments really do spur me on with this mammoth of a fic.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank all you lovely people who have read, left kudos and commented so far. It's been so wonderful and encouraging to read your feedback and has really spurred me on to get back in the saddle of this story. This chapter was made possible by all of you as I struggled a great deal to continue. I've got the rest of the fic planned to the end, and hope that you continue to enjoy it.

 

“Go and find out what you can about last night’s intruders,” Red ordered gruffly. With a nod of understanding Dembe left the apartment, closing the door softly behind him as usual.

“There was no need to be so rude to him,” Liz chided quietly from her seat; she didn’t dare move from the couch while Red was in such a mood. He hadn’t taken news of the break in well at all, seemed personally offended that Dembe hadn’t called him while the men were still in the building. At her words he ceased his pacing and turned his burning gaze on her, cocking his head slightly to one side as he had so many times before only this time he wasn’t curious at all.

“I have every right to be angry, Lizzie,” he began, stepping toward her; his sweet tone and the smile he said the words with made her feel patronised and sent a thrill of fear down her spine. She hoped she wouldn’t witness this side of him too often and that he’d come out of it quickly enough. “This building is no longer safe. I need to make plans to move on again, and Harold will jump at the chance to set up surveillance on me. On you. It wasn’t easy keeping them out of here, y’know.”

“Be angry with them, then. Don’t be angry with Dembe. He stayed up here and kept watch all night,” she implored. “Who do you think sent them?”

Red shook his head. “I’m as clueless as you are on this one. It could be Lacerta – though I doubt it – or your soon to be ex-husband. Even your employers, if they have enough suspicion.”

“About us?”

He rolled his eyes. “About  _anything_ , Lizzie.”

“Of the three, who is most likely to be behind it?” she asked, thinking through the options herself, though she knew she didn’t have the same information to work with that Red did.

“My instinct tells me it’s dear old Tom, though I’ll need to find proof,” he stated, his expression becoming pensive, though quiet fury still radiated from him.

“Is there any reason it might be Lacerta?” Liz pressed carefully, knowing that if there was enough reason to suspect Lacerta then he could well be on to them; if that was the case she knew she wouldn’t sleep for worrying until it was all over.

Red shook his head certainly and she relaxed a little. “Our meetings have gone well. He wouldn’t be so blatant as to send heavies around. If it  _was_  him then I am treading on increasingly thin ice.”

“That’s what I worry about,” she admitted. He sat down next to her on the couch and heaved a tired sigh, patting her leg reassuringly. “I do,” she insisted. “I worry that all this planning and sneaking around, and worst of all hoping, will be for nothing because you’re getting in too deep.” She took his hand and squeezed it, tamping down on the panic that rose within her as she voiced her concerns. “I like to think you’re not getting in over your head but I just don’t know, and that scares the hell out of me, Red.” She looked to him, wide blue eyes meeting his. He gave an awkward smile that came across as more of a pained wince – she took it to mean that he understood her fears – before he squeezed her hand back.

“I need to call Luli,” he stated after a few moments spent in heavy silence.

“Has she said anything about the file yet?” Liz asked, grateful for the change in subject.

“Not yet.” He let his head drop to the back of the couch and yawned at the ceiling. “She should have news soon.”

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know, won’t you? I don’t want to be kept in the dark about this.” Her mind had been turning the issue of the file over and over in her head, running through everything she knew about the formatting of FBI official documents, trying to remember the file as best as she could in the hope there would be some discrepancy to prove it was a fake; not that her memory was up for the task – she had been entirely too emotional at the discovery of the contents of the file that most of her recollection of the appearance of the file was hazy and she only really recalled the words as their stark black print haunted her dreams for the future.

“Of course I will,” he assured, giving her hand a light squeeze for emphasis. Silence stretched between them, until he broke it with another small yawn.

“I’m going to take Hudson out, he’s been sleeping all morning. You look like you could do with a nap yourself. Why don’t you take yourself off to bed after you call Luli?”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed with a mock salute.

She collected Hudson’s lead from the coat stand and sought him out in the bedroom; she found him spread out on top of the duvet, only his eyes moving to acknowledge her presence. With a little encouragement he jumped down from the bed, and at the tinkling of the lead he soon perked up, realising he was being taken out. Liz grabbed her headphones from the coffee table and planted a kiss on Red’s head as he lifted his phone to his ear.

“Luli, Raymond,” she heard him greet as she closed the apartment door, giving him privacy for his conversation.

Liz stepped out of the elevator to find Dembe closing the door to his own apartment. They exchanged tired smiles in greeting with Hudson pacing between them, tail wagging excitedly.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Dembe asked.

“Sure thing. I’d feel safer,” she admitted with a smile.

“So would Raymond,” he pointed out before gesturing for her to head toward the main door of the building.

“I know. He’s calling Luli now.”

“Good. She will be able to turn up information quicker than I.”

* * *

“Do you think we’ll be safe?” Liz asked quietly. They had walked around the park a couple of times before finding a small café, where they sat outside, sipping coffee. She realised they must look a very odd couple; Dembe didn’t exactly look relaxed where he sat on the small bistro seat, his large hand wrapped around his mug, piercing dark eyes returning any stares that came their way.

“Raymond works very hard to protect himself and those close to him, Liz. You should be cautious when he is not around, of course, but when he is here you are safer for it,” Dembe explained. She had always felt that it was the other way around, though supposed that only applied when they had first started working together – it was always more dangerous to be in plain sight with or even just linked to Red than it was to be sitting in a surveillance van, taking a back seat while he got his hands dirty – though since Edison and after everything with Tom, Liz was inclined to agree with Dembe. They were all safer when Red was around. She sipped at her coffee and reached down to give Hudson a pat. She couldn’t help the anxiety that she felt for the coming days or weeks, and questions had begun to form in her head; she knew Dembe wouldn’t breathe a word of their conversation unless threatened by his employer and friend and he was the closest thing to a best friend she felt she had outside of Hudson, who was a good listener but fell short as he couldn’t exactly offer her sage advice beyond ‘if in doubt, lick your butt.’

“Does he mean it?” she muttered into her coffee, before straightening up, realising how immature it was to ask such an open question. “That he wants me to come with him, I mean,” she clarified. When Dembe didn’t respond immediately she felt the need to fill up the silence at their table. “I just need to know he’s as sure about it as I am.”

After another long moment he nodded and smiled at her in understanding. “He wouldn’t offer if he hadn’t thought it through,” he said with such conviction that she couldn’t doubt his words.

“I know, and I hope that doesn’t change. I don’t think I could handle it if he left me alone in a foreign country. I’d have given up everything to be there.”

* * *

On her return to the apartment she fed Hudson before seeking Red out. She found him, asleep, atop the covers of their bed, an open book resting on his chest. With a fond smile at the scene, and wishing she could have a picture of him as he was then, she slipped out of her shoes and approached the bed. Carefully, she removed the book from his sleep-limp grip and set it to one side before joining him on the bed, content when he instinctively curled his body toward her in his sleep. She treasured these moments when she caught him without his guard up; his features softened, he appeared like any other human in slumber – vulnerable yet at peace. She loved him, she knew; she wouldn’t be making plans to disappear off the face of the earth with him if she didn’t love and trust in him. She was sure he knew her feelings before she did but was painfully aware that she hadn’t told him herself, and that would make all the difference.

* * *

Liz heard Red moving about their room before she opened her eyes; her ears followed him to the wardrobe, heard him changing out of his suit which was now no doubt rumpled from his nap. As she blinked away the muzziness that only came from waking from a nap she tried to recall whether he had a meeting that night.

“Good morning,” his sleep-roughened voice drew her further into wakefulness.

“Morning?” she echoed groggily.

“Yes, we seem to have slept through,” he responded brightly, as though it was amusing to him. “It’s five o’clock.”

She sat bolt upright in the bed and squinted at the clock. “Five? I don’t feel like I’ve slept at all.”

“I’m not surprised,” he stated bluntly. “You did nothing but fidget half the time.”

“And you didn’t think to wake me?”

“We’ve both been under a lot of stress lately, and it’s your first day back today. I figured you’d want the rest as much as I did. Not that I got much with all your moving around, mind you.”

“I suppose it’s the thought that counts.”

“So they say.” He paused, seemingly just to take in the sight of her, and she fidgeted under his gaze, hardly feeling attractive minutes after waking in yoga pants and a t-shirt; regardless of her own opinion, Red seemed satisfied and continued to prepare himself for his day. He buttoned his vest before turning to straighten his tie, fussing with it for a moment or two before he twirled around dramatically to present himself to her.

“Cream?” she asked, raising a brow at his choice of suit. “A little brave for the winter, don’t you think?”

“It’s too late to turn back now!” Red exclaimed, causing Liz to wince. It was too early for such animated conversation. “Besides, I get the feeling Lacerta quite likes a flamboyant soul.”

“You’re certainly that,” she agreed with a smile. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, busying herself with stealing the pillows from his side of the bed, arranging them around herself to avoid dwelling on the danger he would be putting himself in again.

“I’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes,” he stated, and the surprise must have shown on her face as he gave her a small knowing smile. “Don’t worry your bedhead, Lizzie, I’ll meet you at the Post Office at ten.”

“Is Dembe going with you?”

“He will drop me off at an agreed location where I will be picked up by Lacerta’s people. He’ll be back here to keep an eye and will take you to work.”

She sighed. “I don’t need-”

“After the events of the night before last, I would feel better if you allowed me to ensure your safety in the only ways I can at the present time,” he stated in a no-nonsense voice. “I can’t be there, Dembe is the next best thing. I wouldn’t trust anybody else with your safety.”

“Fine,” she conceded, knowing Red was right. Truth be told, she was still touched by how much he evidently thought of her safety before all others. He had always told her she was special, but these days she really felt that she was. “Just keep yourself safe while you’re... wherever you are,” she said, the end of the sentence almost unintelligible as she fought a yawn. Red chuckled, approaching the bed with his usual swagger, and pulled the blanket from the end of the bed to cover her with it. He planted a kiss on her forehead and then her lips as a farewell before he left the room. She managed to listen to his footsteps down the hall, the tell-tale sound of the coffee machine clicking on in the kitchen the last thing she heard before she dozed off again.

* * *

The sound of the apartment door opening and Hudson’s scurrying into the bedroom roused Lizzie an hour and a half after Red’s departure. She dragged herself out of bed and called a greeting down the hall to Dembe as she grabbed her clothes from her room and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.

As the water cascaded down on her Liz found herself feeling a little anxious at the prospect of returning to work. Since Edison so much had happened with Red, with Tom... her whole future was completely different to what she had thought before. Better, for sure, but still so wildly ‘other’ by comparison to what she had been expecting prior to leaving Washington with Red. She worried that somebody – namely Ressler – would figure out what they planned to do and alert Cooper, thereby putting an end to the future she intended to see with Red. She told herself it was just one more Blacklister, just Lacerta, and then Red would ensure they could disappear. She willed the impending takedowns to be a success and the time to pass faster, impatient for her new beginning.

Pulling her slacks on her mind turned to subjects that weren’t quite so heavy. She thought she ought to go shopping for more work clothes, better ones; she had never noticed the feel of the cheap fabric before now. Red was really starting to rub off on her. Once dressed she checked her reflection and stopped dead at the sight of herself; she didn’t feel like she was looking at herself, rather she was looking at somebody she was. Still feeling a little outside of herself she opened the bathroom door to meet Dembe and face the day with her Agent head on.

* * *

The Post Office Ops Room was a hive of activity that she didn’t realise she had missed until she was back in the fray with her colleagues. She swept the room and saw Red going over schematics with Malik – evidently finished with Lacerta’s people early – gesturing animatedly at the sheet in front of them, Cooper was on the phone, Aram was glued to a screen as usual. She smiled at Ressler as he approached to hand her a cup of coffee.

“Welcome back, Keen,” he greeted with a small smile of his own.

“Miss me?” she asked with a playful smirk.

“You’re part of the team,” he offered by way of an answer before moving away to study Aram’s computer screen. She was about to follow him when Cooper called everybody to attention.

“We have an update,” he announced. “All teams are to move in on Balcescu and Ahmedi in forty-eight hours. I think it’s been made clear enough that this operation needs to run smoothly. As Reddington has said many times now, Lacerta must believe he is in enough danger to be driven underground. We take these two alive and we make them talk.” The team murmured their understanding before Cooper continued. “Agents Malik and Mojtabai, you’ll be on the Balcescu bust; Agents Keen and Ressler, you’ll be on the Ahmedi bust. None of you will be involved in the actual takedowns. You will be in surveillance vans away from the targets; the takedowns will be actioned by armed units who have been given orders to bring both of them in alive.”

After the rest of Cooper’s spiel and dismissal, Ressler told her they would meet in two hours to go over the plan for the takedown of Izzah Ahmedi. Not wanting to wade through her e-mails she followed Red to the small break room that nobody ever used – the vending machine hardly had anything tasty in it since the Bureau had insisted on providing healthy alternatives to Mars Bars and Cheetos. She opened her mouth to see if he had any further useful information on the takedowns but was stopped as his phone trilled. He fished it out of his pocket and gave her a look that told her he needed to take it.

“Luli,” he greeted before falling silent to listen to what she had to say. He frowned at whatever he was hearing. “I see. You’re certain of this?” He listened. Liz listened harder, not that she could hear Luli. “There can’t be a shred of doubt in what you’re telling me, Luli.” Lizzie’s mind began to race, worst case scenarios running through her head. Red put the phone to his shoulder to muffle the speaker and turned to her. “It’s legit,” he stated bluntly before resuming the conversation with Luli while Liz attempted to digest the information. The file was legit. The FBI was leading him up the garden path, letting him believe he had immunity and thereby the upper hand. Of course, while he had Blacklisters for them he did have the upper hand, but once that list was expended he would have no chips left to bargain with. This would surely change everything. She sat down heavily in one of the hard plastic chairs, staring straight ahead as she considered the implications and fought to retain her composure. She couldn’t lose it at the Post Office or she would risk everything further. “Call Reinhardt and tell him to go ahead with what we discussed. Forward him the information – if he needs anything else, Dembe will provide it to him. Oh, and call Mr Kaplan – she has a job for you.” With his instructions given he ended the call sharply and turned to Lizzie. "It would seem that plans are accelerating. I’d say we need to talk about this but I’m not certain that we have the time to.” He looked meaningfully at the door to signal that Ressler was approaching. It was time to plaster on her game face a soldier on until they figured out their next moves; the days ahead would decide their future, and they couldn't afford any careless slip ups in the meantime.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe many of you an apology for not updating sooner. I'm dead set on completing this fic and the end is in sight now. I'd like to thank everybody who has read, favourited, followed and reviewed this fic so far and hope that you continue to let me know your thoughts on the journey these two have taken throughout.
> 
> For those new to this fic, I'm going to reiterate that this was started after S1E2 so should be considered well and truly AU.

The days following Lizzie’s return to work had flown by in a blur of e-mails and catching up on paperwork. Now, she sat in a cramped surveillance van parked up well away from the club where the heavily armed team were to take down Izzah Ahmedi, with Ressler; she could feel the nervous energy radiating from him, and the tension in the van was becoming stifling. Liz wasn’t exactly relaxed either, though the bust wasn’t the main stress for her; she hadn’t heard from Red in over twenty-four hours and knew he had to sever all contact while he was embedded in Lacerta’s operation. She hadn’t slept the night before and was running on caffeine and adrenaline when she had arrived at the Post Office hours before; worried that Cooper would call her out on her obvious tiredness, she was relieved to find everybody else in the same wired state. After another ten minutes of waiting around and listening to the team getting themselves into position over the radio she took off her headphones and heaved a heavy sigh. Ressler continued to stare resolutely at the screen in front of him, though he was intentionally avoiding having to look at her she could tell – he wasn’t blinking.

“Whatever it is, just ask me,” Liz said, exasperation in her tone. She wanted to clear the air as he was evidently stopping himself from saying something. After a long moment he took his own headphones off, keeping half his attention on the screens as he turned slightly to speak.

“What’s going on, Keen?” he asked bluntly. She could always rely on him to cut to the chase, which made her realise how much she missed Red’s flowery language and cryptic non sequiturs. “With you and Reddington,” he quantified. “You’ve been holed up in that apartment building with him for a while now. I’m under no illusions of whose bed you’re sleeping in, especially after New Orleans.”

Liz frowned. “I thought the FBI couldn’t bug the place?”

“I don’t need a bug to know what’s plain to see, Liz.” He fixed her with a look. “You know it’s dangerous to be carrying on with him like this.”

“I’ve been in danger since Red turned himself over to us, and before that if I’m to believe what he’s said on the subject.”

“Your husband,” Ressler stated, not needing to ask.

Liz nodded. “Ex-husband. And yes, Tom. Red thinks-”

“What does he think?” he interjected testily. She knew she had to keep Ressler on side if she had any chance of pulling the wool over the Agency’s ever-present eyes, and deflecting wouldn’t get her anywhere with him.

“My apartment was broken into,” she confessed. She was taking a chance, she knew, and Red would be livid if he knew what she was doing.

“What?” he exclaimed, eyes widening at the information. “When?”

“A few days back.” She shrugged. “They were looking for me.”

“And you didn’t think to report it?” he demanded to know.

“I didn’t know who it was,” she reasoned, though the implication of who it might have been hung in the van.

“You didn’t think it was the FBI?” he asked, looking a little hurt on behalf of their employer.

“I didn’t,” she assured. “Red wasn’t so sure.” Ressler huffed a laugh, apparently convinced.

“Figures,” he said, smirking. “Is he looking into it?”

“He has people trying to turn up intel while he’s on this case, yes.”

“And Dembe is still close by?”

She nodded. “My own personal escort.”

“If you need anything, you call me, okay?” He turned back to fix his attention on the bust, shaking his head. “You should’ve said something,” he muttered before moving to pick up his headphones again.

“You can’t say anything about this, Don,” she implored, picking up her own headphones.

He gave her a long, measured look, mulling over her request. “I won’t,” he said eventually. “You have my word.”

They sat watching the black and white screens, listening to the team’s radio; the squad assumed their agreed positions without issue and mercifully there was no sign of any unexpected danger that could jeopardise the mission. Liz prayed that the whole thing would be over sooner rather than later, recent events having drained her; she couldn’t be seen falling asleep in the van, snoring on Ressler’s shoulder. Both Liz and Ressler jumped as the team around the back of the building broke down the door to the club and started their sweep, both fumbling for the volume controls to their headphones as orders were barked across the team. A barrage of shots were fired inside the club and both FBI Agents drew their weapons before exiting the van, moving to the cover of the buildings opposite the club, knowing the squad inside had the place covered should a gunfight erupt on to the street. Liz was thankful for the roadblocks they had set up at either end of the street; while too early in the evening for the clubbers to be out, the road wasn’t the quietest in the city at any time and they couldn’t afford civilian casualties.

A field medic burst out of the door nearest Liz and raced across the street, moving around to the back of the club; without the radio feed from the surveillance van neither she nor Ressler knew what was going on. Together they moved back to the van and Ressler joined the radio conversation, Liz at his shoulder, requesting an update. She watched a satisfied smirk cross his face as he slipped the headphones off and looked up at her.

“Ahmedi is down but stable; three fatalities, none of ours. The area’s secure. Wanna go in?”

Liz shook her head. “I think the guys have it. We should head back to the Post Office and wait for her arrival; there’s nothing more we need to do here.” Ressler nodded and advised the team to deliver Ahmedi to the Blacksite. Liz rapped on the blacked out partition to signal their driver to return them to the Post Office before taking a seat, considering that if Balcescu was taken down as swiftly as Ahmedi the finish line could be in sight.

* * *

 

Cooper greeted Liz and Ressler on their arrival and took them to one side for a brief update before he left them to attend to Malik who was approaching him with purpose; she cast an enquiring glance over at Liz, pleased by the nod she received in response. Aram rose from his laptop to greet Liz and Ressler. 

“Ahmedi’s being taken to Room Two. Balcescu’s squealing in One,” he imparted, almost gleefully. Ressler snorted at Aram’s excitement.

“Have we had any updates on Reddington?” Liz asked, immediately bringing her tech-savvy colleague back down to Earth.

“Uh, no. We’re assuming he hasn’t had a chance to make contact while he’s with Lacerta. We’re expecting news of Ahmedi and Balcescu’s arrests to reach them quickly.” Liz’s stomach knotted at the thought of Red possibly being accused by Lacerta or worse, not being given the chance to talk his way out of it as he usually did; she felt sick and was thankful when Ressler ushered Aram back to his workstation to talk about something, casting a concerned look at her over his shoulder. She had to get a handle on herself, especially while she was in the office; it wouldn’t do her any favours to have her emotions plastered all over her face whenever anybody mentioned Red. She knew he wouldn’t be at the Blacksite when she returned, but the dread she felt wouldn’t leave her and approaching Aram’s screens the sensation only intensified.

“Where is he?” she asked in a measured tone.

“His chip,” Aram stated. “It’s not registering.”

“Get Cooper,” Ressler ordered Aram. “If Reddington’s off grid we need to be looking at contingency ASAP.” Once Aram had scurried away he turned to Liz. “Everything is going to be fine,” he assured.

* * *

 

Cooper had released the team for a few hours, although they were all reluctant to leave; they saw the tension in Cooper and knew he was concerned that the entire operation was about to head South and their best asset potentially lost. Liz had stared at Aram’s screens, willing Red’s chip to register but knowing that it wouldn’t. Ressler had led her out of the building to Dembe’s car, advising she should be taken home. 

The drive back had been silent, but she could feel Dembe’s concerned gaze. He remained quiet until they were back in the apartment, standing in the kitchen; Liz leant against the counter while Dembe made coffee for them both.

“You must trust in Raymond’s ability to come out of any situation unscathed,” he advised, setting a mug down beside her. He stood there until she met his dark eyes with her own anxious blue ones. “He will be fine.”

“But what if he isn’t?”

“One thing you should learn from him, if nothing else, is that ‘what ifs’ are a waste of time. Things either are or they aren’t.” Dembe shrugged before pushing away from the counter. “It can help to look at things that way,” he said, exiting the kitchen.

She wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped at her coffee, suddenly feeling very tired. She dismissed the idea of a nap, knowing she wouldn’t get any sleep; her mind kept turning over the possible outcomes of the situation, finding more negatives than positives. Her phone buzzed and she fumbled to retrieve it from her pocket, sloshing coffee on the countertop as she set her mug down. It was Cooper; Red had managed to get a message to Aram and the interrogation of Balcescu had provided useful intel that he had Agents working on. Liz found she only had a moment to feel affronted that Red hadn’t got a message directly to her before her phone started buzzing; she looked at the screen, hoping to see Nick’s Pizza calling, but instead answered to Cooper.

“Agent Keen,” he greeted.

“Sir,” she returned. “I just got your message.”

“Reddington needs more time; Lacerta’s security has been strengthened, no doubt as a result of Ahmedi and Balcescu disappearing at the same time. He’s insisted we wait for him to tell us when to move in. He’s projecting forty eight hours until we next hear from him.” Liz’s heart sank; how was she to deal with not knowing what was happening to him for two days? “Agent Keen, are you listening?”

“Yes, Sir,” she recovered. “Are we standing down?”

“Consider yourselves on call; I don’t think you’re needed here right now. We have people working on the intel from Balcescu, though Ahmedi hasn’t given us anything - we’re still working on her.”

“Feisty, isn’t she?”

“You can say that again,” he agreed dryly. “I will be in touch if anything changes.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She hung up to see a message from Ressler, asking whether she’d received Cooper’s message; she responded with a simple ‘Yes’ before heading into the living room with her coffee to sink into the couch and attempt to relax. She smiled as she heard Dembe talking to Hudson in Red’s office, no doubt catching up on the admin that wasn’t getting done while the Concierge of Crime was underground. Leaning back into the embrace of the couch, she closed her eyes only to be interrupted by her phone again. Ressler. Again. The team were heading out for the evening; the general consensus being that Red wouldn’t be in touch until he said he would be, and they could all do with unwinding for the night. Heaving a deep sigh she rose from her seat and padded into Red’s office, dropping her cellphone on the desk beside the papers Dembe was reviewing. He looked up at her in question. “I’m going for a nap – can you screen my calls until I wake?”

“Of course,” he acknowledged with a smile. “Sleep will do you good.” With a yawn and a nod of agreement, Liz exited to the bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed and drew the blanket up from the end of the bed with her feet, pulling it up over herself and snuggling into the pillows. She soon drifted into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning in the large bed.

She woke to find Dembe standing over her, holding her phone.

“Wha- what’s happened?” Liz asked, sitting up and running a hand over her face.

“Nothing,” he said. “Luli is on her way over; I thought you might like somebody to talk to. Your friend April called too – I said you’d call back once you’d awoken.”

“Oh. Thank you, Dembe,” she said, accepting her phone from him with a small smile.

“Would you like some more coffee?” he offered. She shook her head in response and he left her alone in the room. Yawning, she looked up April’s number and hit the call button.

“Hi April, it’s Liz.”

“Yeah, it’s been crazy at work. I needed the sleep.”

“Dembe?” She laughed. “As far as I know he’s single, but I’m not sure he’s looking.”

“You’re terrible!”

“Things with David are fine. He’s away on business at the moment; he has some loose ends to tie or something.”

“No, I’m fine. I just miss him being around. It’s silly really, he’ll be home in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely up for getting together some time.” She listened as April reeled off her calendar. “Tuesday sounds good,” she said. “Okay, it’s a date!” With a few last comments she hung up the call and rose from the bed to search for some more comfortable clothes; she’d rumpled her work suit by napping in it and if the rest of the team were doing their own thing for the next two days then she would do the same, if only to stop herself from constantly thinking about Red. She knew she was kidding herself though, no matter what she did she’d be worrying; she wouldn’t be able to relax until he was in front of her, until she could touch him and feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. As she pulled on a pair of jeans she heard Dembe at the intercom and assumed Luli had arrived. She selected a t-shirt and headed into the bathroom to freshen up before greeting Red’s assistant, feeling better for having company than she thought she would. Realising there was nothing she could do about the shadows under her eyes, she ran a brush through her hair before leaving the bathroom and heading down the hallway.

“Hey, Luli,” she greeted with a smile.

“Hey, yourself,” Luli shot back good naturedly, moving further into the room to seat herself on the couch as Dembe excused himself back to Red’s study. “I heard you apprehended Ahmedi and Balcescu,” she said.

“Yeah. Both takedowns went fairly smoothly. Ahmedi wouldn’t talk but Balcescu spilled some valuable intel,” Liz responded, sitting on the couch also.

“I’m glad it went well enough. Raymond was concerned for you; I think if he’d had his own way he would’ve kept you from it.”

Liz snorted. “I was in a surveillance van, hardly in any crossfire!”

“True. He didn’t say anything to Agent Cooper anyway. He respects your career, you know.” Silence fell between them; Liz wasn’t sure what to say back to Luli – she’d never considered what Red truly thought of her FBI career, other than it being convenient. “So what’re your colleagues doing with their downtime?” Luli prompted, effectively saving the conversation.

Liz shrugged. “They’re all going out tonight to celebrate the captures, but I can’t stop worrying about Red. This whole thing isn’t over yet.”

“You should go,” Luli encouraged. “Don’t worry about Raymond. He can handle himself.” Seeing Liz was uncertain she pushed a little more. “Come on, what else are you going to fill your time with? Dembe’s hardly a wild child.”

“But-”

“Listen, if there’s any news I’ll be in touch with Dembe. He’ll be wherever you are, keeping watch as per Raymond’s instructions, so you’ll know straight away.”

“Okay,” she relented.

Luli sat back and rubbed her hands together. “Great. So... what are you wearing?”

Liz threw her hands up in exasperation. “I literally have nothing.” It was true. All of the clothes she might have considered were still at the house and she had no desire to return there.

“Actually, you do have one thing,” Luli supplied with a sneaky smile, standing from the couch.

“What’s that?”

“Access to Raymond’s money.” She fished her purse from her bag and showed the cards inside.

Liz stared at her a moment, unsure if she was being serious. “Are you suggesting-”

“I call it my corporate card.” Luli waved her purse toward the front door. “Come on, get your shoes on. I’ll wait in the car.”

“Luli,” Liz began to protest as she hopped on one foot, pulling on one of her boots, “I couldn’t possibly-”

“You can buy lunch if it helps you feel better,” Luli called over her shoulder before disappearing through the door to the stairwell.


End file.
